Lionhearted
by NightingaleTear
Summary: When Minerva McGonagall was eleven years of age, she went off to Hogwarts to become the extraordinary witch she was destined to be. One of her teachers was Albus Dumbledore… A story about trust, friendship and the hearts of two Gryffindors.
1. Hatstall

**A/N: I've been re-reading the Harry Potter books and I just couldn't help myself. I had to turn to fanfiction again. I hadn't written for Albus and Minerva in a long time. All my stories were old and really rather terrible, so I decided to start all over again. Literally. With the day they first met. I will stick to canon and everything Rowling published on Pottermore wherever I can. But I will determine Minerva's age based on the number of years she taught at Hogwarts (as given in Order of the Phoenix) and the number of years between her Hogwarts graduation and the start of her teaching career (as given on Pottermore) – which means that I will completely disregard the Fantastic Beasts movies. Also, this will probably become a romance at some point, but I'm not quite sure yet where my journey with these two characters will take me this time. Perhaps some of you would like to come along for the ride.**

* * *

**PART I**

**"It matters not what someone is born, but what they grow to be."**

**1\. Hatstall**

Hogwarts was the prettiest castle eleven-year-old Minerva McGonagall had ever seen. And having been born and raised in Scotland, she had seen loads. Of course, she had never been this anxiously waiting and at the same time secretly terrified to see any of them before.

Minerva could hear the noise of hundreds of students who were busy finding their seats in the Great Hall, greeting their classmates and chatting about the summer holidays without a care in the world. She longed to join them, but she and the other soon-to-be first-years had been told to wait in this small classroom.

Wait for the sorting to begin. Minerva felt like she had been waiting for this moment ever since she had figured out that she was different from all the other children in her village. Waiting and worrying and hoping, but always in secret, of course. Because the other kids and, more importantly, their parents could never find out that she was a… a witch.

Well, technically, she wasn't a real witch yet. She couldn't do any magic. Not on purpose anyway. Hopefully, that would change soon. She was dying to learn. She was dying to do anything that didn't involve more waiting.

Nevertheless, Minerva did her best to keep still. Most of her fellow first-years did the same. Of course, some of them looked like they were simply too scared or too nervous to move or talk. One boy seemed perfectly at ease, however. He was walking from one student to the next, asking everyone's names.

Minerva wasn't exactly anxious for him to reach her. He had a bit of a stuck-up look. But when he did get around to her, Minerva didn't want to be rude, so she told him her name. As soon as she had done so, the boy wrinkled his snobbish little nose.

"That's a funny name," he said.

Before Minerva could think of a reply, a girl next to her spoke up, "Yeah, I'm sure she's never heard that one before."

Surprised, Minerva looked to her left. She had, in fact, heard that one before. Many times. In a village like hers on the outskirts of Caithness, full of church-going, no-nonsense kind of people, the name of a heathen goddess did not fail to attract attention. Which was of course why her mother had given her the name. Much to her father's initial dismay. But Minerva was not only the name of the Roman goddess of wisdom, it had also been her grandmother's name, who, according to her mother, had been an extraordinary witch. And so Minerva was proud to bear her name.

On most days anyway. Today, it really was a bit of a funny name.

The boy looked askance at the girl who had come to Minerva's aid and walked off without asking any more questions.

"Thanks," Minerva said. "So, um, who are you?"

The girl was a little plump and quite a bit shorter than Minerva, but she had a head of curly hair and an easy smile. "My name's Augusta Longbottom."

Despite her nervousness, Minerva couldn't hide a grin. "Now _that_ really is a funny name," she joked.

Augusta blinked, and for a moment, Minerva feared that she had offended her, but then Augusta burst out laughing and, feeling a lot better, Minerva joined in.

"I seem to have missed something extraordinarily funny," a deep voice suddenly said from behind them. "Would you two like to share with the rest of us?"

Minerva clamped her mouth shut so fast that her teeth rattled. With her heart in her throat, she turned around to the teacher who had just returned to the classroom and who was now looking right at her down a slightly crooked nose.

He had neatly trimmed auburn hair and a beard and wore magnificent robes of a deep midnight blue with golden stitching. Also, he was very tall and imposing, and, looking like a very powerful wizard, he could have been quite frightening. It was only the amused twinkle in his eyes behind those half-moon spectacles he was wearing that told Minerva that she wasn't being scolded.

Perhaps it was that twinkle that gave her the courage to answer. "No, Professor. It really wasn't that funny."

"What a pity. There's no such thing as too much laughter," he said before he turned his gaze on all of them. "We are ready for you now, and the sorting will begin momentarily. The sorting, that is, into one of Hogwarts' four houses, which, I'm sure you all know, are Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Slytherin and Gryffindor."

He paused for a moment as if to prepare for a lengthy explanation of the four houses and Minerva was ready to memorize every word. But all he said was, "I will not bore you with the details as you will learn all there is to know about each of the four houses very shortly. Suffice it to say that, no matter which house you will be sorted into, Hogwarts will offer you a home if you so desire. And I hope each of you will give our school your very best in return."

Having said all he apparently had wanted to say, he turned around. But the boy from earlier, who seemed obsessed with names, stepped forward. "Excuse me, Professor, I didn't catch your name."

Minerva found the boy's behaviour very annoying, but the professor only gave a soft chuckle. "That's because I didn't give you my name. I find that most newly arrived students are too – shall we say – _preoccupied_ to remember it. It is a fairly long name, you see? But since you asked so nicely…" His lips twitched. "My name is Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. But don't worry, Professor Dumbledore will suffice. Now, if there are no other questions, please follow me."

There definitely would have been more questions, but Professor Dumbledore had turned around so fast that no one else got the chance to ask them. Minerva got the feeling that Dumbledore had done that on purpose, because as soon as he had told them who he was, all first-years had started whispering amongst themselves excitedly.

Dumbledore? _The_ Dumbledore? Everybody knew that name of course. He had only just been awarded the Order of Merlin (First Class) for having defeated Grindelwald in what was now considered to have been the greatest duel ever fought between two wizards. More recently, there had even been rumours that he would become the next Minister for Magic. Minerva couldn't believe that he was still teaching here, that he would be teaching them. If she had been excited for classes to start before, she could hardly wait now. Of course, she wished Dumbledore hadn't just caught her laughing her head off like a silly little girl. In light of that, Minerva wouldn't have tried to ask any questions, even if Professor Dumbledore had given them the chance.

Which he didn't.

He led them out of the small classroom, through the Entrance Hall and a set of double doors into the grandest hall Minerva had ever seen. She had known that the Great Hall would be magical. But seeing it for herself was very different than just reading about it. She couldn't decide which was more intimidating – the enchanted ceiling (twinkling with hundreds of stars) or all those students and teachers staring at her and the other first-years.

They followed Professor Dumbledore like little ducklings and marched down the Great Hall all the way up to the High Table where the teachers were sitting. Right in front of the staff table sat a stool with an old hat on it. While the Great Hall was even more impressive than Minerva had imagined it to be, the Sorting Hat made for a rather sorry sight. It was patched in several places and it looked like it had sat on way too many different heads in his long life. Minerva would have felt much better if the future of her entire school career hadn't depended on something so… frayed.

No one else seemed particularly bothered or concerned by this, however. Everyone turned their attention towards the hat and after a short pause (for dramatic effect, Minerva supposed), the hat began to speak in a singsongy voice. As Professor Dumbledore had promised, the hat told them all about the four houses.

How Ravenclaw looked for students who were wise and smart, while Hufflepuff welcomed those who were kind and full of heart. Slytherin then favoured cleverness and ambition, whereas courage and chivalry were most important in Gryffindor's vision.

It was a nice song, but Minerva thought she would have preferred to hear about the houses from Dumbledore.

Still, she clapped like everyone else when the hat had finished. Professor Dumbledore picked up a scroll of parchment. "When I call your name, and only your name," he seemed to wink at the obnoxious boy with all his questions, "please come forward and put on the hat."

Minerva settled in for a bit of a wait, but watched with great interest as her fellow classmates were sorted into their new houses. Sometimes the hat's decision was instantaneous (the nosy boy, whose name, incidentally, was Eric Elcoat, was declared a Ravenclaw within seconds). Other times, the hat took a little longer to decide, but all in all, the sorting was swift and efficient.

The hat sent Augusta off to Gryffindor and suddenly it was Minerva's turn to put on the hat. It was too big for her and dropped over her eyes, even with her glasses. The Great Hall vanished from view and all Minerva could see was the black inside of the hat. It looked just as old and dirty from the inside as it had from the outside.

"Everybody's a critic," a small voice said in her ear, and Minerva jumped.

She wanted to apologize, but she would have felt silly talking to a hat.

"No need," the hat continued as if it were perfectly normal that it had just read her thoughts. "You have a very sharp mind. Inquisitive, demanding, a keen thirst for knowledge…"

Well, surely she wasn't as bad as that Elcoat boy, or so Minerva hoped. He had been made a Ravenclaw, though he hadn't seemed that smart to Minerva.

"You think you're smarter than him, eh?" the hat asked, and again Minerva winced.

That hadn't been a very nice thought, but she couldn't be punished for thinking it, could she?

"No, you might be right. I do see a lot more potential in you, lots of discipline, too, a quick wit. Ravenclaw would certainly help you find the answers you seek and learn all there is to learn."

Minerva supposed she would have to get along with Elcoat. Perhaps he hadn't meant to be rude. She should probably give him a second chance. But if he did turn out to be a horse's ass, then Minerva vowed here and now to stand up to him next time he bothered her or Augusta, should they have classes together. Though Augusta probably didn't need Minerva's help to stand up for herself.

"Feeling chivalrous now, are we?" the hat noted.

Minerva had almost forgotten that he was there. Had he still not decided? With all the other students, he had shouted the name of the house for everyone to hear. Minerva hadn't heard him yell anything yet.

"Hmm, I see determination and great strength, stubbornness even, a strong will, kept in check, hidden down deep, yes… Gryffindor could help you free those feelings."

Beginning to feel uncomfortable, Minerva grabbed the edges of the stool she was sitting on. She didn't like being judged like this. It wasn't as if she had been imprisoned at home. Yes, she had been afraid to do magic accidentally. And it had been even more difficult to stop her brothers from doing the same. But it was worth the effort. If the people in her village had found out, her father would have lost face. Minerva never wanted to hurt him.

"So very selfless, so very brave… oh yes, you would do very well in Gryffindor," the hat finally seemed to have made his decision and Minerva's grip relaxed. "But oh, what a waste! All that wisdom, all that talent! Ravenclaw would surely set you on a path to do great things, sharpen that clever mind of yours… Oh, what to do with you?"

As much as she tried not to, Minerva was beginning to panic. She couldn't remember if there had ever been a case of the hat being unable to decide. What would happen then? They couldn't send her away again, could they? Her mother could certainly use her help with Junior and Malcom. But no, she couldn't go home. She wouldn't.

"So much spirit and yet so little faith." The hat tutted, if hats could do that. "Ever since Godric Gryffindor bewitched me himself, I have yet to fail to make a decision. But I suppose you know better than the great Gryffindor himself?"

'_No, of course not! But, um, could you maybe hurry up a little?'_ Minerva thought desperately. _'Er… hurry up, please?'_

"Now, which is it? Do you want me to choose right or choose fast?" the hat asked.

'_Er… both?'_

"So you want to have your cake and eat it to, eh? Most Gryffindors do…" The hat trailed off thoughtfully.

Minerva waited with bated breath. _'So… if most signs point towards Gryffindor, and you're never wrong, then you should send me to Gryffindor, right?'_ she thought.

"A very astute observation, my dear girl. What a fine Ravenclaw you would make!"

Minerva's shoulders slumped. _'Then I'll go to Ravenclaw. Just give me a chance. Please. I'll work hard. I promise.'_

It almost felt as if the hat was nodding – and making Minerva's head move along with it. "Ravenclaw does like hard workers, indeed."

'_Great. I'll do it. I'll study. I'll help my classmates. I'll even be nice to Elcoat. I will do whatever it takes!'_

"Such a strong fighter you are," the hat marvelled. "Oh, very well then. GRYFFINDOR!"

Minerva almost couldn't believe it when she heard the hat shout that last word out loud. But her relief was short-lived. So far, all the hat's announcements had been followed by applause. This time, however, she could hear people yell stuff like 'Finally!' and 'About bloody time!'.

She had no idea how long she had been sitting on that stool. But it must have been way longer than anyone else. Minerva could feel her cheeks burn hot with embarrassment and she jumped to her feet and ran over to the Gryffindor house table as fast as she could.

So fast, in fact, that she forgot to take off the hat first.

Now, people were laughing, too. Minerva wanted to disappear on the very spot and she couldn't bring her legs to move and go back. But she didn't have to.

Professor Dumbledore had followed her. "I'm afraid I'll be needing that back," he said, pointing at the hat.

Minerva couldn't say anything to him. She knew her entire face must still be flaming red.

As Dumbledore reached out to take the hat from her, he gently rested a hand on her shoulder for a moment. "Welcome in Gryffindor," he said quietly. "I have a feeling we'll be lucky to have you. Very lucky, indeed."

Her eyes widened. Thankfully, Dumbledore didn't wait for a response. He strode back towards the remaining first-years and continued with the sorting.

Minerva sank onto the bench at the Gryffindor table, prepared not to look at anyone ever again. But Augusta scooted over to her. "Merlin's Beard! You must have set a new record!"

"How… how long was I…?" Minerva wasn't sure if she really wanted to know so she didn't actually finish her question.

"At least five minutes, maybe six, I reckon," Augusta answered it, anyway. "Everyone will be talking about this."

Minerva buried her face in her hands. All her life she had tried not to give people reason to talk about her…

"What did Dumbledore say to you just now?" Augusta wanted to know, quite oblivious to Minerva's distress.

"Um… he said that… Gryffindor would be lucky to have me."

"Oh, well, that was awfully nice of him, wasn't it?"

Minerva lifted her head and dared to glance Dumbledore's way. He clapped politely along with everyone else as the hat announced that 'O'Connor, Tara' would become a Hufflepuff.

"Yes. Yes, I suppose it was," she whispered and felt a little bit better.

* * *

"There you are, Albus! Sit, sit, and tuck in, before it's all gone!" The headmaster greeted him with great enthusiasm when Albus made his way to the High Table after returning the Sorting Hat.

"I daresay it is quite impossible to go hungry at a Hogwarts feast, although you seem determined to prove me wrong," Albus said.

Armando Dippet paused with a sausage halfway to his mouth. "Sorry, I'm starved. Couldn't have known that we would have a hatstall today of all days or I wouldn't have skipped lunch!" He laughed and downed his sausage. "Can you believe it, though?"

"Can I believe what?" Albus asked, reaching for some kidney pie.

"The hatstall! Must have been the first in fifty years. Have you seen one before?"

"I have not."

Dippet frowned. "Not a fan, are you?"

"I do not care much for the term. It suggests that there is something wrong with the hat taking its time," Albus explained.

"There is if you're hungry." Dippet chuckled.

Albus glanced at the headmaster's protruding belly. "I'm quite sure you were in no immediate danger."

"You're in a mood today, aren't you?" Dippet said unperturbed. "Not happy that the hatstall girl landed in your house?"

"Please do not refer to her as the 'hatstall girl'," Albus asked him, but there was a certain sharpness to his voice.

Dippet now seemed to accept that he was being a little cavalier this evening. "I'm sorry. Turns out that as headmaster you only get to deal with the troublemakers. Guess I'll have to watch my attitude," he said thoughtfully. "So, what's your problem with hatstalls?"

"I don't have one. Quite the opposite, actually. I'm surprised they don't occur a lot more often than they do," Albus replied.

"How do you figure?"

"Well, we're all only human. We have certain qualities we're proud of and some that we're not. Sometimes, we're aware of our abilities and other times we are caught completely by surprise by some of them. I would think five minutes is not a long time to sort all of that out."

Dippet actually stopped eating for a minute to look at him. "Sounds reasonable enough," he agreed. "But coming from you of all people, I'm not so sure you're actually as human as the rest of us."

"Oh, I can assure you, Armando, I am no more or less human than anyone else in this school," Albus said quietly.

"There is an Order of Merlin, First Class, in your office that begs to differ. Come to think of it, where exactly is it? Don't tell me you've stuffed it in a drawer somewhere!"

Albus turned his attention back to his own plate. "That award won't help me teach."

"No, but it could help you do a lot of other stuff, like, govern the entire British wizarding community perhaps?"

"Are you firing me?"

Dippet startled so badly that he knocked over his goblet and spilled wine all over Professor Sowerby's lap. "Oh, terribly sorry, Cyrille!" He quickly waved his wand to clean up the mess before he focused on Albus again. "Galloping Gargoyles! What in the name of Merlin are you talking about? Me firing Albus Dumbledore? I could just as well fire myself."

"You just seemed very keen on talking me into taking another job," Albus pointed out.

"Only because… well… after defeating the most powerful…" Dippet was clearly searching for the right words. "I'd imagine that teaching has to seem very dull in comparison. People are wondering…"

"I am exactly where I want to be, Armando," Albus interrupted him and he hoped that he sounded quite final.

Apparently, he did. "Great. Guess that's settled then. It's not as if I wanted to have to look for a new Head of our Transfiguration Department. As if anyone could follow you…" Dippet laughed and shook his head. "But if I were you, I'd prepare for an onslaught of questions tomorrow. Or would you like me to say something in my speech?"

"I hardly think my actions or titles are of any consequence for the upcoming school year," Albus declined.

"Other than that you ended a Wizarding War for all of us, you mean?" Dippet snorted, but something in Albus' face convinced him to let the matter go. "Fine, have it your way."

There was a bit of an uncomfortable silence, so Dippet said, "What was it we were originally talking about? Oh right, let me know if you ever find out between which houses the Sorting Hat couldn't decide with your hatstall gir… I mean… your newest Gryffindor student."

Albus looked in the direction of the Gryffindor table and nodded absent-mindedly, though he had no intention of telling the headmaster any such thing. He thought every Hogwarts student had a right to a private conversation with the Sorting Hat. He also thought it possible, however, that it would eventually become apparent to everyone what sort of talents this (Albus glanced at the parchment with the list of new names again) Minerva McGonagall had in store for them.


	2. The Morning After

**2\. The Morning After**

When Minerva opened her eyes the next morning, she looked up at the ceiling of her four-poster bed in her Gryffindor dormitory and smiled. Augusta snored loudly in the bed right next to her. It was a little early for breakfast, but Minerva couldn't go back to sleep. She was too excited for her first day of school.

She used the time to start a letter to her parents. As embarrassing as the sorting had been for her, she felt the need to tell someone (so that, hopefully, they could tell her that it no longer mattered now that she was in Gryffindor and about to start school). Just to be safe, though, Minerva asked her parents not to tell her brothers about it.

Unfortunately, she quickly discovered that sweeping the whole thing under the rug would be a lot more difficult than she had thought. On her way to breakfast, several people greeted her by saying 'Morning, hatstall', which Minerva supposed was meant as a joke, but then at her house table a couple of students asked her if she was sure that she was sitting at the right table. Minerva did not find that particularly funny.

"Just ignore them," Augusta advised her when she had joined her for breakfast.

It was sound advice. Only Minerva couldn't heed it.

A Gryffindor third-year asked her to pass the porridge, but when she did, he pulled back his hand. "Oh, wait, I think I changed my mind. I think I'll have toast instead."

Minerva narrowed her eyes at him, but put down the bowl of porridge and offered him the the toast. He reached out to take one, but then jumped backwards.

"Oh no, I don't think that's right either. I'm so confused! Could you wait for five and a half minutes until I know what I want?"

"No, I couldn't!" Minerva dropped the plate back onto the table with a loud clang. "And if you're confused, you should go to Professor Dumbledore and tell him that you can't go to class today because someone put a Confundus Charm on you."

The boy gaped at her. "A what now?"

"You're a third-year, aren't you?"

"Yeah, so?"

"So if you don't know what a Confundus Charm is, maybe you're the one who's in the wrong house or, perhaps, the wrong school," Minerva snapped and turned her back on him.

Augusta only looked surprised for a moment and then gave her a broad grin. But the third-year turned to his friends and said quite loudly, "Now I know why the hat took so long. He probably didn't want to let her in, but she annoyed him so much that he had to give in eventually."

Minerva gritted her teeth and forced herself not to rise to the bait. But then she heard how the boy began to gag and when she dared to look, she saw him spit out his pumpkin juice. "Ew, this tastes like crap!"

One of his friends reached for his goblet and took a sip. "Tastes okay to me."

"No, I'm telling you, it tasted like bogeys!"

"How do you even know what bogeys taste like?"

Minerva turned back around and snickered.

Augusta's eyes were wide when she leaned in closer. "Did you do that? Because if there's a Bogey Flavour Spell, you'll have to teach me!"

But Minerva's smile dimmed. There was no such spell, of course, but she had wished for something to make that boy shut up. She had used magic on a classmate without meaning to! If someone besides Augusta had noticed – a teacher or…

She hung her head and didn't look left or right until she was sitting in her very first class, which happened to be History of Magic. Their teacher entering the classroom through the blackboard shocked her out of her reverie. Professor Binns was a ghost and completely oblivious of that fact. Or perhaps, he was so devoted to teaching that he had decided to continue with his chosen profession even after death. Minerva rather liked that explanation. Unfortunately, his lesson wasn't very lively. Professor Binns more or less ignored them completely and read from a parchment that detailed the foundation of Hogwarts.

Minerva took notes anyway.

Her classmates seemed rather disappointed that they hadn't gotten to do any magic in their first lesson. Minerva, on the other hand, was quite all right with that. While everyone else got even more excited for their next class, Minerva could hardly even remember her own excitement from this morning. They had Transfiguration with Dumbledore next. Surely, they would learn loads from the man who had defeated Grindelwald.

Augusta was thrilled. Minerva was quite confused.

"Should be teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts, shouldn't he?" Augusta said as they were queuing outside the classroom.

"Who?" Minerva asked.

"Dumbledore, of course!"

"Oh, well, maybe Transfiguration is his favourite subject," Minerva suggested half-heartedly.

Augusta didn't look convinced. "I highly doubt he defeated Grindelwald by turning him into an alarm clock."

"But that's just it, isn't it?" Minerva said, perking up a bit. "Anyone can send a curse at someone else. But changing things or conjuring them out of thin air or even giving them life… that is really advanced magic."

"Couldn't have said it better myself."

Minerva jumped, as once again Professor Dumbledore was standing right behind her. For a man who was so tall, he was quite good at sneaking up on people. Or maybe it was just her.

"Perhaps you would like to start the lesson for me?" Dumbledore asked with a curious smile on his lips.

"No, sir. Sorry, sir," Minerva muttered quickly.

"No? Well, in you go then." He lazily waved his wand and the classroom door sprang open.

Everyone was eager to get inside. Augusta made sure that she and Minerva got seats in the front row by the window.

When everyone was seated, Dumbledore smiled at them warmly. "I'd like to once again welcome all of you. I trust you're having a good first day at Hogwarts," he began.

Minerva quickly averted her eyes.

"I hope you'll forgive me, but I do not know all of your names just yet, and I will need to check that you're all here on this very fine morning." He checked their names off a list. Thankfully, he did so without dwelling on her name any longer than on the others. "Now, I'm sure you're all very excited to start waving your wands, make your pets fly across the room and hex your fellow classmates," Dumbledore continued.

Minerva frowned. Should a teacher be encouraging them to do stuff like that? She was quite certain that Professor Dippet had told them that it was forbidden to do magic in the corridors in between classes and most certainly to use it on each other.

Dumbledore seemed quite unconcerned. "However, I must caution you that Transfiguration requires quite a bit more than quick wand waving, even if you do it with the best of intentions. It is a very complex and sophisticated branch of magic that will ask precision and dedication from both the wand and the witch or wizard wielding it. As some of you undoubtedly already know." He glanced Minerva's way and winked.

"But fear not, I shall do my very best to guide and introduce you to the wonderful art of Transfiguration. In the face of such daunting odds, I always find it best to start small, like how you would start with an appetiser before the main course. So today we will…"

Professor Dumbledore paused because a hand had gone up in the back row. Graciously overlooking the interruption, he asked, "A question, already? Yes, Mr. Bayfield?"

"Please, Professor, we were wondering if you could tell us more about how you defeated Grindelwald," a boy named Duncan Bayfield asked. Minerva hadn't spoken to him yet, which meant that he hadn't teased her about the hatstall incident. And so she had thought that he was quite all right. But she didn't like the way he said 'we', as if they had all conspired to ask Professor Dumbledore nosy questions.

If Dumbledore was annoyed by the brazenness of the question, he didn't show it. "That, I'm afraid, is outside of what I'm being paid to teach you in this classroom." His words were kind but a clear dismissal all the same.

At least, Minerva thought it had been quite clear. Another hand shot into the air, though. It belonged to one of the girls from Minerva's dormitory named Alison Quinn. All Minerva knew about her so far was that she had put a (stationary) picture of her family dog up over her bed. "But, sir, can't you use Transfiguration in a duel?" she asked.

Professor Dumbledore turned his blue sombre eyes on her. "I most certainly can. You on the other hand are not to engage in duels until you're much older."

"So, some day you will teach us some of the spells you used against Grindelwald?" This time it was Augusta, who had spoken without even waiting to be called upon.

At this point, Minerva was sure she saw Dumbledore suppress a sigh. "What I will teach you – if you will let me – are Transformation and Switching Spells, how to untransfigure objects and make them vanish; and if you'll join me for your N.E.W.T.s, we shall brave Human Transfigurations and even the art of Conjuration. What you will do with these spells is, of course, entirely up to you. Now may I proceed or are there any more questions?"

He hadn't raised his voice or even looked at any of them other than with that mild smile on his lips, and yet there was no mistaking the fact that whoever asked another question about Grindelwald would do so at his or her own peril.

No one said a word. No one even dared to move.

"Oh dear," Professor Dumbledore muttered under his breath, perhaps realising that the whole class looked slightly terrified. "Let's try this another way. Please all grab your wands."

Since this was the first time they had ever been told to use their wands, the class immediately came back to life. They all had their wands ready within seconds and looked expectantly at Professor Dumbledore. He in turn also raised his wand, which didn't look like a wand one could have bought at _Ollivanders,_ Minerva noticed, and in front of each of them appeared a set of matches.

"Can anyone tell me what kind of magic I just used?" Dumbledore asked.

Those who had raised their hands earlier still seemed hesitant to do so again or maybe they didn't know the answer, though Minerva thought that it was quite obvious since Professor Dumbledore had already told them. And so she said, "A conjuring spell, sir."

"Indeed," Dumbledore nodded, smiling at her. "Conjuration is horribly complex and comes with its own set of limitations that shall not concern us today. Because all you will be doing today is a simple Transformation spell that should transform your matches into needles. If you would all please point your wands at your match and say 'Argentium!'."

The class hesitated, no one willing to go first, which Dumbledore acknowledged with a chuckle. "On the count of three then. One, two, three, Argentium!"

The entire class echoed the incantation, some joining in a bit late. Minerva barely even moved her lips.

"Now, anyone see any change to their match? No? I would think not. That is because you have no idea what you're doing. But it does feel good to hold your wands, does it not?" Professor Dumbledore asked brightly and several students now dared to nod and grin back at him.

"Still, I'll have to present you with at least some of the theory, I'm afraid. Transfiguration in short is the alteration of the form or appearance of an object via the alteration of said object's molecular structure. Any transformation is directly influenced by a couple of factors, namely body weight, viciousness, wand power and concentration. What that means for you is that transforming a match into a needle is one of the easiest Transfiguration spells you can attempt since both objects are very similar in size and form, and I am sure you can all easily picture a perfectly ordinary needle in your mind's eye."

Professor Dumbledore's explanations sounded pretty straightforward to Minerva, but next to her Augusta mouthed 'viciousness' with a slight frown on her face.

"As you attempt to transform your match and while transfiguring in general, be as firm and decisive in your wand movements as possible. Please do not try to impress anyone by twirling or wiggling your wand, as that might look very dashing, but will most certainly distract from your Transfiguration. Any successful Transfiguration requires precision."

Dumbledore picked up a match from Duncan's table right in front of him, gave his wand the tiniest of flicks as he said the incantation, and in the blink of an eye he was holding a sparkling needle instead.

"You do not need to take only my word for it, however. You may open your _Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_ to page seven for further instructions. I will be coming around the room to help, of course. Please begin."

Minerva opened her book and scanned the corresponding page several times. Next to her, Augusta was already waving her wand very energetically, doing the exact opposite of what Professor Dumbledore had just told them about wand handling. But Minerva did not point that out to her because she wasn't any better.

All she was doing was to hold her wand loosely in her right hand as she stared at her match. Then she lifted her head and looked out the window onto the beautiful castle grounds and the wild Scottish countryside.

It was just all so very strange. She had tried so hard for so long not to do magic. Ever since she had been old enough to understand that it was not normal for back pipes to start playing on their own to lull her to sleep, or for her favourite toys to simply appear right next to her in her bed when she was feeling lonely, or for her cat to bring them to her when she was too lazy to get up.

"Is there a problem, Miss McGonagall?"

Minerva quickly looked away from the window and met her teacher's gaze. "No, sir," she said automatically, but then reconsidered because the teachers were here to help them, and Professor Dumbledore in particular seemed to be patiently waiting for her to explain herself. "It's just… you're sure it's okay to do magic in here?"

For the first time, she thought she saw a frown on Dumbledore's face. "Well, that is what you are here for if I'm not mistaken. And I rarely am, if you'll excuse my saying so." His eyes twinkled at her.

"I know. I mean… I know that that's why we're here, not whether you're mistaken or not. Not that you are! I mean…" Minerva lost her train of thought and stopped in horror.

But Dumbledore merely chuckled. "What exactly is it that you're worried about?" he asked. "I can assure you there is no shame in failure."

Just as he had said that, Holter Furlong in the row behind Minerva raised a shaky hand. "Um, Professor…?"

Barely even bothering to look, Dumbledore waved his wand. Somehow Alison had managed to melt her and Holter's matches into one giant puddle of… something. Dumbledore easily replaced the thoroughly destroyed matches with perfectly new ones.

Emboldened, Minerva asked, "Are you quite sure that there are no Muggles around to see?"

When she saw the surprised look on Professor Dumbledore's face, she immediately felt stupid for asking. "Muggles? In Hogwarts?"

There seemed to be no point in backpedalling now, so Minerva glanced at the window again. "We get a lot of hikers in the highlands. I know Hogwarts is protected, but is it really completely impossible for someone to discover the castle and come close enough to see us do magic? I don't want to get in trouble with the Ministry," she explained.

Dumbledore raised both eyebrows. "The Ministry of Magic?"

Minerva nodded. "You know, for breaking the International Statute of Secrecy?"

"Oh, I'm quite familiar with our laws. I helped tweak a few of them. Which is how I know that nowhere in there it says that a bright young witch like yourself is forbidden from doing magic in my classroom. So," Dumbledore nodded towards her untouched match, "feel free to do your worst."

Minerva opened her mouth to say something, but Dumbledore beat her to it. "And I promise you if any officials from the Ministry of Magic show up here to take you, they'll have to go through me first."

There was nothing she could say to an extraordinary promise like that, so Minerva nodded and Dumbledore smiled before he moved on to the next student.

Glad he hadn't stayed to watch her, Minerva read the instructions in her textbook one more time and thought of Dumbledore's demonstration. Then she tightened her grip on her wand and blocked out everything else, focusing solely on her match that quivered for a moment and then morphed into a needle, albeit reluctantly, it seemed to Minerva.

Not at all convinced that it hadn't been just a stroke of luck, she moved on to the next match. It, too, transformed, a little faster this time. Still, Minerva continued until she was out of matches.

Then she leaned back in her seat and released a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding. As she was staring at a set of perfectly fine needles, holding her wand suddenly felt different than it had before. It was no longer just a piece of wood that promised her a future she couldn't actually picture. Now it seemed to hum with energy, and finally Minerva understood what Mr. Ollivander had tried to tell her about the connection between a witch and her wand. She knew it was still only a piece of fir wood with a dragon heartstring inside, but all nine and a half inches of it now seemed pleased and eager for her to find out what else they could do together.

Slowly, a grin spread across her face and Minerva raised her hand into the air as high as it would go.

When Professor Dumbledore approached her table, she said, "I'll be needing more matches, Professor."

"Of course, you…" He broke off when he spotted the needles that Minerva had neatly arranged in the centre of her table. Quickly, almost calculating, his eyes darted from the needles to Minerva and back.

"Did I… did I do something wrong?" Minerva asked, unnerved by his silence.

The unreadable expression on Professor Dumbledore's face morphed into a smile. "Quite the opposite, Miss McGonagall, you most certainly did something very right. Take… let's see… five points for Gryffindor for every successful Transfiguration you did here today."

Minerva's eyes lit up when she realised how many points she had just earned for her house. "Can I have more matches then, Professor? I'm sure I could do more." Dumbledore was Head of Gryffindor house after all. So he should be just as interested in her winning more points.

Dumbledore chortled. "I believe you. But I'd like you to read the rest of the first chapter now, paying special attention to the formula on page nine, sum it up for me and explain how it is relevant to what you did here today. To be handed in as a short essay in our next lesson."

"Yes, sir," Minerva nodded. "But are you sure I can't also have more matches, Professor?"

He didn't get the chance to answer her because Duncan had accidentally turned Drew Carmel's hair silver and she was screaming her head off, even though it took Dumbledore all of two seconds to fix it. He then told everyone to keep practising and to read the chapter in the book. No one else was supposed to write an essay about it, though. Minerva decided that was a good thing. Especially when she noticed that none of her classmates had even come particularly close to a successful Transfiguration.

"Let me guess," Augusta said as they were packing up their things. "The other house the hat wanted to send you to was Ravenclaw?"

"Are you saying I should have gone there instead?" Minerva asked warily.

"No way! I will need you to tell me exactly how you did that just now so I can do it, too," Augusta said and linked arms with her.

As they were leaving the classroom, Minerva thought that Professor Dumbledore had been right.

It really was a very fine morning.

* * *

When all students had left his classroom, Albus walked over to the table by the window and inspected the needles Miss McGonagall had left behind more closely.

He couldn't find fault with any of them. He even pricked his finger with one of them.

"My, my…" he muttered.

The only student he could remember to have ever done a similar feat in his very first lesson was currently standing right here with his bleeding finger pressed to his lips.

Actually, he wasn't completely sure if he had transformed his match completely or only most of it. He certainly couldn't remember doing a whole bunch of them. For a split second, he wondered what the _Daily Prophet_ would say to the great Albus Dumbledore being thoroughly outdone by an eleven-year-old student. Now that was a headline he would actually enjoy reading.

He had certainly considered telling Miss McGonagall but had decided against it. High praise like that was a double-edged sword. No one knew that better than he did. And he didn't think it wise to put so much pressure on the girl. She seemed quite capable of doing that all on her own.

A sharp knock on the window interrupted his musings. A large barn owl was impatiently waiting for him to let it in. Wary of another letter from the Ministry, Dumbledore took his time opening the window. When he freed the scroll of parchment from the owl's leg, he quickly recognised Nicholas' narrow handwriting and smiled.

Perhaps he would have something enjoyable to read tonight after all.


	3. Owl Post

**3\. Owl Post**

The arrival of the post in the morning was always a sight to behold. But in the first week of school there were even more owls descending into the Great Hall and circling to find their owners than usual. Parents were especially anxious to hear from their children, to congratulate them on having been sorted into their preferred house or having made the Quidditch team, or they were sending them stuff they had accidentally left at home.

At each of the four house tables, students eagerly craned their necks to see if they would get news from home. Even if it meant being showered with raindrops when the owls shook water out of their wet plumage. Minerva was no exception. She had finished her letter to her parents on her first day, raving about Transfiguration and telling them in detail how she had been the only one to transform her matches.

A tawny owl headed right for her, but it dropped the large package it was carrying in Augusta's lap instead.

"Sweet!" Augusta grinned. The package was indeed filled with her favourite sweets. "My parents are thrilled that I got into Gryffindor. They were both in Gryffindor, too, you know. Fell in love here at school. But don't mention that to them when you meet them or they'll tell you the whole story. They can be so gross."

Minerva mustered a smile as best as she could. She would really like to meet Augusta's parents. She didn't know many pure-blood families. But she was a little disappointed that she hadn't gotten word from her parents, too. She wouldn't have needed any sweets. A letter would have been enough.

But she didn't have time to dwell on that because they were learning so many new things and she needed her full concentration in all of her classes. Today they had double Potions for the first time. The Potions master looked like he had eaten too many of Augusta's sweets and he seemed to love to hear himself talk. It took him forever to check the attendance list because he got sidetracked whenever a name was familiar to him.

"Longbottom… why, would your father be Barnaby Longbottom who works in the Obliviator Headquarters at the Ministry?" he asked Augusta.

"Yup, that's him," she nodded.

"Great lad! Helped me out once when I got in a bit of a… well, never you mind now. And then your mother is Maude Longbottom, of course. Oh, do ask her to send me some of her wonderful homemade fudge, would you, dear girl?"

"Sure thing, Professor."

"Excellent! Now, who's next? McGonagall, Minerva?"

She raised her hand and watched as Professor Slughorn mouthed her last name and then clearly came up short. He gave a little shrug and moved on to 'Monahan, Padraig', with whose uncle Slughorn had gone to school, which of course led to five minutes of reminiscing and catching up.

Meanwhile, Minerva was beginning to understand why they had a double lesson today. Whoever was in charge of the timetables clearly knew how much time Professor Slughorn needed to get acquainted with his new students. When they finally started with their Potions lesson, Slughorn seemed to know what he was talking about, though.

"I'm sure you're all very taken with all the wand waving and incantation muttering you've been doing in your other classes. But I can assure you that no other subject will teach you how to make someone fall in love with you, go to sleep forever, or even tell you their deepest and darkest secrets. Now, those things are highly illegal, of course, but it goes to show you how much power a true Potions master can wield – and without even poking anyone in the eye with their wand!"

Professor Slughorn beamed broadly at them and proceeded to put them into pairs to mix a simple potion to cure boils. It was incredibly difficult work and Minerva had to check the instructions in _Magical Drafts and Potions_ over and over again to stop Augusta from adding the wrong ingredients at the wrong time. No matter what Slughorn said, she much preferred wand waving and incantation muttering.

At the end of the lesson, Slughorn came around the room to check on their progress. Minerva thought that she and Augusta had done all right, and sure enough Slughorn's face lit up when he looked into their cauldron.

"Oho, this is excellent work! For a first attempt truly exceptional! Clearly, you have inherited your mother's talent," Professor Slughorn said, looking at Augusta.

"Actually, Professor, Minerva did most of the work," Augusta replied hesitantly, catching both Minerva and Professor Slughorn completely by surprise.

"Is that so?" Slughorn's eyes went from Augusta to Minerva. "Then can you tell me, Miss…"

"… McGonagall," she helped him out when he faltered.

"Right. Can you tell me why your potion does not look like that?" He pointed to their right where Holter and Duncan had ducked under their table for cover because their cauldron was boiling over and burning holes into the floor.

"Well, it looks like they added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire. Arsenius Jigger says on page ten that that will make the potion extremely unstable," Minerva replied.

Professor Slughorn seemed to look at her in an entirely new light. "Quite right, quite right. Well, ten points for Gryffindor, I suppose. Five for each of you."

"Nice," Augusta said when they were leaving the dungeons. "I got five points for doing exactly what you told me to do."

"Why did you tell Professor Slughorn that I did all the work?" Minerva wondered.

Augusta shrugged. "Because you did. And Slughorn already loves me because he loves my mother's fudge. I figured you could use the help more than me. Can't have a teacher who doesn't love you," she teased.

She didn't say it in a mean way, though. There seemed to be no jealous bone in her body. For which Minerva was very grateful. She couldn't have stomached a row with Augusta, because by the end of the week she was quite thoroughly disheartened. She still hadn't received an answer from her parents.

It was raining nonstop outside the castle windows, casting the Charms classroom into a dim light. The perfect opportunity to learn the Wand-Lighting Charm, according to Professor Sowerby. All around the classroom wand tips started lighting up, some brighter than others, some kept flickering or going out again whether their wand owners wanted them to or not. It certainly made the room look less gloomy. But it wasn't enough to cheer up Minerva.

She wasn't the only one who was a little on edge at the end of their first week. Alison was arguing with Drew Carmel about whether dogs made better pets than cats, and suddenly the sleeve of Drew's robes was on fire. She screamed, jumped to her feet and almost bumped right into Minerva in her panic, very nearly setting her on fire as well.

Minerva quickly extinguished the light at the end of her wand by saying "Nox!" and then pointed her wand at Drew, yelling, "Suffocari!"

At first, nothing happened, but then the fire was slowly snuffed out as if smothered by a blanket. By now, Professor Sowerby had hurried over to them from the other end of the classroom.

"Are you hurt? Do you need to go to the hospital wing?" she asked, checking Drew's arm for injury.

"No, I think I'm okay, Professor. Thanks," Drew said, glancing at Minerva.

Professor Sowerby followed her gaze. "That was some quick thinking you did there. How did you know how to do that? That's no ordinary textbook spell."

"Er…" said Minerva. The truth was she had seen her mother do it once when Malcom had accidentally set Junior's bed on fire – with Junior still in it – and her mother had panicked. She had later made all of them swear not to tell.

"In fact, I remember seeing that particular wand work before…" Sowerby continued, thinking. "McGonagall, is it? What was your mother's name?"

"Isobel Ross?" Minerva replied, but it came out like a question.

Professor Sowerby smiled widely, however. "I knew it! I've seen her do that spell in this very classroom. Graduated top of her class in Charms your mother! Never again had a student who was that quick with a wand," she remembered fondly. "How is your mother?"

Minerva hesitated. "Fine."

"Good, tell her hello for me, will you?" Professor Sowerby asked and Minerva could only nod. But she could hardly tell her mother anything as long as her mother wasn't actually talking to her, she thought bitterly.

Preoccupied with her own thoughts, Minerva made her way to Transfiguration. The rest of the class was still working on their first transformation attempts, several more matches now at least turning silver. With her thoughts a million miles away, Minerva almost missed Professor Dumbledore telling her how pleased he had been with her essay. He seemed to think that her distraction meant that she was bored because he placed a couple of pencils on her table.

"I assume you are familiar with what the Muggles call a 'fountain pen'?" he asked.

"Yes, Professor," Minerva nodded. Her father always used one to write his sermons.

"Excellent. Then I would like you to transform these pencils into fountain pens. The principle is rather the same as before, but I think you will find this a bit more challenging."

Dumbledore smiled and he was quite right. When the bell rang, Minerva had created a bunch of writing utensils that were quite impossible to write with. Some of them looked close enough to fountain pens, but inside they were still made of wood or lead, which left Minerva quite flummoxed and frustrated. She had no choice but to ask Professor Dumbledore for more pencils. He handed her an entire pencil case.

During the weekend, the Gryffindor common room was packed with students at all hours. Especially since the rain still hadn't let up. It was now coming down sideways because the wind had picked up to. The fourth- and fifth-years were especially loud and rowdy. They took the best seats by the fireplace, played Exploding Snap and made it impossible to concentrate on homework. Minerva was the only first-year who was annoyed by this. The others were happy to relax and rest up after their busy first week. But Minerva didn't feel like spending time with them. Mostly because Duncan wouldn't shut up about the new broom his parents had just promised to buy for him.

When Chase Abney reminded him for the umpteenth time that first-years weren't allowed to have their own brooms, Minerva left the common room and hid in the library. After she was done with her homework, she took out her pencil case and started practising again. But even hours later she hadn't produced a single fountain pen that had even a drop of ink in it. She knew she was getting more upset about this than she normally would have. Still, she practically whipped her wand through the air and yelled the incantation in anger.

Her newest fountain pen exploded and sent its ink flying – right into Professor Dumbledore's face, who had just rounded a shelf, carrying a whole bunch of books in his arms and therefore unable to protect himself.

Horrified, Minerva jumped to her feet. "I'm so sorry, Professor! I'll fix it!" She pointed her wand at his face and yelled, "Scourgify!"

Which caused Dumbledore's mouth to fill with soap.

"Oh no! Oh no!" Feeling as if she was trapped in a nightmare, Minerva raised her wand again, but she was so panicked that she had no clue what to do.

By now, Dumbledore had dropped his books on her table and next Minerva's wand flew straight out of her hand and into Dumbledore's before she could even think of another spell. Then he properly cleaned his face, and now that there was no more soap in his mouth or ink on his glasses, he was free to actually look at her.

Minerva wished he wouldn't, though. He didn't exactly look pleased. "Professor, I didn't mean to… I…" There was nothing she could really say in her defence, so she sank back onto her chair and buried her face in her hands to hide the tears that threatened to spill over. She didn't want to cry. She never cried. Certainly not in front of a teacher!

"Now, now, I hardly think this is worth crying over," Dumbledore said calmly. "It's quite possible that I forgot to brush my teeth this morning, so really, you might have just done me a favour."

Somehow the fact that he was joking about this, perhaps even trying to cheer her up, made everything worse. Minerva screwed up her face as hard as she could to hold back the tears, but she clearly wasn't fooling anyone, as Dumbledore sat in a chair across from her and wordlessly offered her a handkerchief.

Minerva took it, but all she did was to bunch it up in her fist. "It's not really about this, though I am terribly sorry," she managed to say.

Dumbledore merely looked at her, patiently waiting for her to speak her mind. Or not. She was quite certain that it was completely up to her.

"I haven't heard from my parents all week," she confessed eventually.

"Well, we've been having terrible weather," Professor Dumbledore said lightly. "I myself have only had one owl since Monday and, between you and me, I get a lot of owls, and they generally don't even like me all that much."

Minerva's lips twitched despite her dark mood. "I'm worried that it's not about the weather. My mother… she was crying when I got my Hogwarts acceptance letter and when I left for school."

"I know that it must seem strange to you now, but parents do tend to get rather emotional when they realise that their children are growing up."

"What if… what if they also resent them for it?" Minerva asked quietly.

Dumbledore's eyebrows creased. "I'm afraid I don't follow."

"We live in a Muggle village. My father is the minister there. If people were to find out that my mother is a witch…" She didn't finish that sentence, but she didn't feel like she needed to. "My mother hasn't really done any magic in a long time."

"Ah," Professor Dumbledore said slowly. "I see."

Minerva waited for him to say more, but for the longest time he just sat there with her. At least, she didn't feel quite so alone anymore.

"Well, if I were you, I wouldn't count on my owls before they are delivered," he said eventually.

"Because you think that my parents' owl is just late?" Minerva asked.

"Because, judging from what I've been seeing and hearing of your class work this week, I have no doubt that both of your parents are every bit as proud of you as they ought to be," Dumbledore said and rose from his chair. "Having said that, I must warn you, however, to never again use a spell if you're not absolutely certain what it will do."

Minerva, who had allowed herself a hopeful smile, quickly schooled her features. "Yes, Professor."

"Good. Then I'll be handing this back to you." He gave her back her wand.

"Thank you, Professor." She watched as he got ready to leave. "Professor?"

"Yes?"

"Why are you researching dragon's blood?"

Dumbledore looked from her to the books in his arms, whose titles she had deciphered upside down, and chuckled. "Just some light reading for the weekend. I'll be seeing you on Monday."

He left the library and, feeling a lot better and a lot more willing to have company, Minerva packed up, too, and returned to the common room.

* * *

"You know how you always tell me that I shouldn't only invite pure-blood students to join my Slug Club?" Horace said while he poured a generous amount of sugar into his porridge on Monday morning. "And get more girls, too?"

"I believe I said that once, yes," Albus replied, sipping his tea.

"I might have found a real diamond in the rough, who's not a pure-blood. She's still too young, of course. Only a first-year, but in a couple of years and under the right tutelage…"

"Are you per chance talking about Miss McGonagall?"

Horace paused with his mouth hanging open. "Don't tell me you found her first!"

"She's not a collector's item, Horace," Albus replied, shaking his head.

"Of course not, but she could make whoever were to teach her look very good, indeed," Horace mused.

"Well, you have five years at the very least to teach her everything you know."

"I suppose. But I was rather hoping to be the first…"

Albus frowned. "The first to what?"

"The first to make an impression with her," Horace explained. "We all know there's no competing with you and your flashy Transfiguration trickery."

"Excuse me? I wasn't aware that I was teaching my students magic tricks."

"You know what I mean," Horace said, waving off the insult. "You're not that different from me, you know. You have your favourites and you recruit students for your little fan club. You just don't call it that."

Having no idea how to respond to that accusation (which unfortunately meant that there might be at least some truth to it), Albus remained silent. Which Horace of course took as confirmation. "But I'm not giving up that easily, Albus. She may be in Gryffindor, but I can still convince her that Potions is the best subject to make use of her impressive skill set. May the best man win!" Horace yelled, brandishing a sausage like a sword.

Albus rolled his eyes at him. "I will not be waging war against you on the back of a student."

"We shall see, Albus. We shall see!"

But Albus fled the staff table before Horace could draw up battle plans. He was just crossing the Entrance Hall when he bumped into a student on their way towards the marble staircase. When Albus saw who it was, he bit back a laugh and was secretly glad that Horace wasn't around to witness this.

"Sorry, Professor," Minerva McGonagall said. "I was distracted."

Albus followed her gaze to the piece of parchment she had clutched in her right hand. It looked like a letter. Judging from the cheerfulness in her step this morning, it was the letter she had been waiting for.

"Good news, I take it?" Albus asked, pleased that his prediction from two days ago had proven to be correct. He had gone out on a bit of a limb with that one. But as complicated as her parents' situation might be, he had refused to believe that there was anything complicated about their love for their daughter.

Her smile confirmed as much. "The best," she nodded. "Thank you, Professor."

"Think nothing of it," Albus told her and continued on his way.

"Professor Dumbledore?" she called after him and he turned around one more time. "I thought you might like a new pen," she said and handed it to him before she hurried off towards Gryffindor Tower.

Albus looked at the pen in his hand. It was a fountain pen in brilliant red and gold colours. Back in his office, he carefully set it down on a piece of parchment and the ink flowed easily. Smiling, Albus leaned back in his chair.

Horace was not going to like this.


	4. Accidents

**4\. Accidents**

The first-years' excitement about school had waned somewhat now that they had gotten to know all of their regular subjects and had discovered that most of them very actually hard work. And so everyone was doubly excited when the notice board informed them that their first flying lesson was coming up.

They gathered in the school courtyard and watched as Madam Hooch strode briskly towards them. She was a very young witch, compared to all their other teachers, but she had almost hawk-like, yellowish eyes that were as sharp as her voice. If anyone had thought that she wouldn't be strict because she hadn't been teaching for long, they had been sorely mistaken.

"I know that some of you will have already flown on a broom before while others have never had the chance. But I don't care if you fancy yourself the next Quidditch sensation to bring home the World Cup for England. In my class, you will do as I say, and we will all start with the basics. Flying is not just a sport. It can be very dangerous. So if you value your life, I suggest you start paying attention!"

Tara O'Connor from Hufflepuff, who had been blankly staring into space, jumped guiltily.

Minerva didn't need to be told twice. She was a little nervous. She was as curious about flying as her classmates, but she had never really done it before. No matter how often Junior and Malcom had begged her to steal their mother's old broom and sneak off to the woods with it. It was just too great a risk that they would be seen. There was no explaining away a flying broomstick.

As Madam Hooch had promised, they started with the basics. Much to some of the boys' dismay they only got acquainted with their school brooms, learned to command them to jump up into their waiting hands and eventually to push off the ground to hover a little. Even that ended with a couple of bleeding noses and shins. So Minerva understood why Madam Hooch proceeded with such caution.

In their third lesson, they were finally allowed to do some actual flying. Only two students at a time, however, and they were only to circle around the courtyard. Duncan went first, and he hadn't been lying about already knowing how to fly, no matter whether his parents would buy him that racing broom or not.

When it was Minerva's and Augusta's turn, they positioned themselves next to their brooms and said, "Up!"

Both of their brooms shot up into their hands immediately, and they grinned at each other. Then they mounted their brooms and upon Madam Hooch's whistle pushed off the ground. Minerva had been worried that she might feel like she could slide off her broom any second, but once she was truly up in the air, there was no trace of fear. It was a wonderful feeling to be soaring through the air like this and every time her broom reacted to her touch, she cheered inside.

She began to circle a little faster and a little wider because she figured that Madam Hooch would blow her whistle if she was going too high or too far. Minerva was flying close to the castle walls when she spotted a familiar face through one of the windows. She must be as high up as Professor Dumbledore's study because he was sitting at a desk, grading essays. He looked up when he noticed her hovering there. Minerva waved at him and quickly returned to the ground when Madam Hooch whistled.

Tara and Alison were next. Tara managed to call her broom to her, but Alison's broom was bucking and writhing on the ground almost like a horse. Alison's voice rose higher and higher as she got even more desperate to control her broom. Her frantic commands were ringing in Minerva's ears when Alison's broom suddenly began to move, but instead of shooting up into Alison's waiting hand, it shot straight at Minerva, who had no time to duck, and the tip of the broom hit her right in the eye.

She screamed when her face exploded with pain. She could no longer see anything other than a red tinge through her left eye. Shaking vigorously and feeling helpless, Minerva raised her hands to her face.

"Don't touch it!" Madam Hooch bellowed at her and grabbed her wrists. "You need to go to the hospital wing. And you better come, too, you're a bloody safety hazard!" Minerva assumed that she was talking to Alison, who let out a sob. "The rest of you, don't move until I get back!"

Madam Hooch wrapped an arm around Minerva and gently steered her back inside the castle and up to the hospital wing. The matron, Madam Hailstone, greeted them right away.

"Oh dear! Another flying accident? I don't understand why we keep teaching students to do this," she muttered while she ushered Minerva over to a bed.

"For the same reason we keep teaching them how to brew poisonous potions, tend to dangerous plants or defend themselves against the Dark Arts," Madam Hooch shot back.

"Yes, well, those things can't be helped. But there are other ways to get from A to B, aren't there?" Madam Hailstone countered and began to gently prod Minerva's eye. A blinding pain shot through her skull (quite literally) and she winced, wishing the matron would stop touching her.

Madam Hooch meanwhile sounded as if she had swallowed something nasty. "Will she be okay, though?"

"Yes, yes, just leave it to me," Madam Hailstone replied distractedly.

"You stay here until I've spoken to your Head of House," Hooch said to Alison and then she was off.

Alison still sobbed quietly, but Minerva had a hard time focusing through the fog of pain in her head.

"Drink this, my dear." Madam Hailstone held a steaming goblet right up to Minerva's lips and helped her drink some of it.

She must have blacked out immediately because when she came to again, she was lying down. The pain in her head had receded to a dull throbbing, and when she opened her eyes, she could actually see again. Some shapes were still a little blurred, but it was loads better than before.

"Just give it some time. Tomorrow everything will be back to normal," Madam Hailstone assured her.

Minerva breathed a sigh of relief and sat up in her hospital bed, noticing Alison for the first time. She was sitting next to her bed and looked relieved, too.

"I'm sorry, Minerva," she said. "I don't know why these accidents keep happening around me."

"I did lots of accidental magic, too, before I came to Hogwarts," Minerva tried to cheer her up. Now that she knew that she wasn't blinded for life, she wasn't angry at Alison anymore.

"But you haven't been setting people on fire or poking their eyes out, have you?" Alison asked sadly.

"Er, no," Minerva had to admit. "But you heard Madam Hailstone. Stuff like this always happens during flying lessons."

Alison sniffed and stared at her hands. "It's not just the accidents. I'm rubbish in class, too. I'm scared that… I think they might kick me out."

"They wouldn't do that!" Minerva said quickly. "Professor Dumbledore wouldn't do that!"

"I don't think he likes me much. The only time I managed to make my match look anything like a needle was when I sent it flying straight up his nose. He only just managed to make it vanish."

Minerva tried very hard not to snigger. "So what? He doesn't take these things personally."

"Maybe not with you, but…" Alison broke off rather abruptly when the doors to the hospital wing opened and it was Professor Dumbledore who entered.

Alison jumped to her feet and started telling him how terribly sorry she was, but he held up a hand to stop her rambling. "Thank you for telling me that, Miss Quinn. Now, would you be so kind to go to my office and wait for me there? I'd like a word with Miss McGonagall, but I will be along shortly. Feel free to help yourself to a couple of acid pops. But be careful. I had one that burned a hole right through my tongue the other day," he told her not unkindly.

Alison nodded and shuffled away.

Professor Dumbledore turned his blue eyes on Minerva. "How are you?"

"I'm okay, Professor." It seemed to be the safest answer in order not to get Alison into any more trouble.

"Hmm," said Professor Dumbledore, giving no indication as to whether he believed her or not.

Which made Minerva think of something. "Professor, could you perhaps not tell my parents about this? I was rather hoping to persuade them to let me play Quidditch next year."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "Wasn't this only your third flying lesson?"

"So?" Minerva asked defiantly.

Professor Dumbledore merely smiled softly, but he said, "It is quite out of the question that your parents don't hear about this." Minerva had been afraid he would say that. She knew that the Heads of House were obligated to inform the respective parents if students got hurt while under their care at Hogwarts. Even if by the time the owl reached them, all was most likely well again.

"I will, however, make you a deal," Dumbledore continued. "I won't tell them as long as you do."

"I will. Thank you, sir," Minerva gladly accepted because anything was better than an official letter from Hogwarts. Feeling like she might get away with another question, she asked, "What's wrong with Alison?"

Professor Dumbledore considered his answer for a moment. "There is nothing 'wrong' with Miss Quinn. However, her magic appears to be very unstable and unfocused."

"Why?"

"Unfortunately, there is a lot we still don't know about how our magic works. While some of us have been known to teach their cuddly toys to dance ballet while still in their crib, others need the longest time to learn the easiest spells. The only thing wrong with that is that we often lack the necessary patience to deal with it."

"Did you teach ballet dancing to your toys when you were a baby, Professor?" Minerva asked, grinning.

Dumbledore chuckled. "It was merely an example. I much prefer chamber music."

Minerva giggled, but then she thought of Alison again. "What's going to happen to her?"

"There's no need for you to worry about that. Your only job right now is to focus on getting well," Dumbledore replied and got ready to leave.

But that sounded like an answer adults gave to their children when they wanted to hide that something bad was happening behind their backs. And so Minerva scooted to the edge of her bed. "Please, don't expel her! It wasn't her fault, and it didn't even hurt!"

Dumbledore stopped to look at her again. "It is admirable that you wish to protect Miss Quinn, but I must ask you not to lie to me," he said quietly but without any trace of his usual humour.

Surprised, Minerva gaped at her teacher, wondering if he could really tell when someone was lying to him or if he had just assumed that getting your eye punctured by a splinter from an out-of-control broomstick had to hurt. To err on the side of caution, all she said was, "Yes, sir."

"Very well, I'll be leaving you to your recuperating then," Dumbledore said with a smile that eased some of Minerva's trepidation.

"But I feel better already," she dared to point out. "I would like to go back to class, Professor."

"Madam Hailstone wants you to stay the night. I'm sure your classmates will be taking notes for you."

"Please, sir? Professor Slughorn said we'd be starting on the Forgetfulness Potion today and he hinted that it would be part of our exams at the end of the year."

Dumbledore shook his head. "This is out of my hands, I'm afraid."

"Couldn't you overrule Madam Hailstone?"

"Oh no, I really couldn't. You see, the next time I get sick, I'll need her to still be on my good side," Dumbledore told her.

Minerva hung her head. "I understand, Professor."

She expected Professor Dumbledore to leave now, but he looked at her for a moment longer. "Here, perhaps you'll find this interesting while you rest." He flicked his wand and handed her a magazine that had appeared out of thin air. According to the title on the cover, it was called _Transfiguration Today._

Her eyes wide, Minerva accepted it. "Thank you, sir."

"Don't tell Madam Hailstone," Professor Dumbledore winked at her and left.

* * *

Two days later, Minerva was back in the Gryffindor common room, sitting in a nice armchair by the fire with Drew's cat purring in her lap. Alison sat in the chair across from her and told her how she had talked to Professor Dumbledore, her parents and even the headmaster, and they had decided to wait until Christmas to see if her performance would improve.

"What if it doesn't?" Minerva asked cautiously.

Alison shrugged. "Not sure, but Dumbledore suggested that I could start over again next year."

The thought of having to repeat her first year was quite horrifying to Minerva and Alison seemed to guess as much.

"I'm just glad they're not kicking me out yet," she explained.

"Told you they wouldn't," Minerva replied, completely convinced that Professor Dumbledore had been the one who had argued for giving Alison more time. "And I could help you keep up in class. Or I could try anyway."

"That would be great, thanks!" Alison grinned, but her expression froze when a couple of third-years approached them.

Among them was the boy who had teased Minerva on her very first morning here in Hogwarts. By now she had learned that his name was Parker Precourt, but she had tried to stay out of his way whenever she could. It was too late for that now.

"Hey, get out of my chair, you little Squib!" Parker said to Alison, and he did it so loud that the whole common room heard him.

Alison's face was as red as tomato. "I'm not a Squib!"

"Right. You're even worse. You're practically a Muggle, a stinking, little Muggle," Parker sneered and laughed.

Furious, Minerva got up, making Drew's cat hiss as she landed by her feet. "Take that back!" she demanded.

"What's it to you?" Parker asked, frowning. "Ah, but with that last name I don't even have to ask. You're practically a Muggle yourself."

Before Minerva could respond one of Parker's friends said, "She's not, though. I heard Professor Sowerby say that she taught her mother once."

Parker shrugged his shoulders. "Just your father then. Well, he's not here to protect you now. Not that he could, being a pathetic, filthy, stupid Muggle."

"Take that back!" Minerva hissed again, beside herself with fury.

But Parker only laughed in her face. "Make me!"

Minerva glared at him and suddenly Drew's cat jumped at Parker out of nowhere, and screeching and meowing frantically, she started scratching Parker's face viciously with her claws.

Parker's friends tried to help him, Drew came running and screaming that no one should hurt her cat, and all mayhem broke loose in the common room when people began to take sides. The prefects tried to get the situation under control again, but they were having no luck until someone ran for help and Professor Dumbledore climbed through the portrait hole – somewhat awkwardly since he was so tall.

He didn't waste any time and a loud bang that came out of his wand made everyone freeze. Drew's cat bolted up the stairs to the girl's dormitories. Professor Dumbledore's eyes seemed to follow it, and then he surveyed the rest of the scene before sweeping down on Parker, who was the only one who was bleeding, and quite badly, too.

Dumbledore pointed his wand at Parker, which stopped the bleeding immediately and seemed to numb the pain, too, because Parker removed his hands from his face and stood a little straighter.

"What happened here?" their Head of House asked into the room that had gone completely quiet.

One of the prefects felt obligated to answer when no one else did. "I didn't see all of it, Professor. But I believe Parker was arguing with two first-years and then that strange cat came out of nowhere and went completely crazy."

"He's not a strange cat," Drew spoke up shakily. "And he's never attacked anyone before. I don't know what's gotten into him!"

"It was her!" Parker pointed his finger at Minerva, apparently not too badly hurt to speak. "She did it. She made the cat attack me!"

Everyone stared at Minerva, who was at a loss for words. She thought she had seen Professor Dumbledore close his eyes for a second, suppressing a sigh.

Somebody else spoke up for her, though. "Only because you attacked us first! Saying those horrible things about me and her father!" It was Alison.

Dumbledore looked from her to Parker. "What exactly did you say to Miss Quinn and Miss McGonagall?"

"Nothing, Professor," he said quickly, but this time it wasn't only Alison who protested. Other Gryffindors who had heard the exchange all started speaking at the same time.

Until Professor Dumbledore raised a hand. "Okay, okay, I think I get the idea." He turned his blue eyes on Minerva. "And did you command Miss Carmel's cat to attack Mr. Precourt?"

Minerva's thoughts were racing. She had wanted Parker to shut up and eat his own words and she had been so very angry that he was talking about her father that way. And since she had recently learned how effective an eye injury was in ruining the rest of your day, she had thought about scratching his eyes out. But she had also learned how painful it was, so she hadn't actually done it. Well, she hadn't done it with her own hands. Of course, no one could really tell cats what to do, right? They were notorious for only doing what they wanted. Except, Minerva knew that she could make them listen to her sometimes… It didn't seem wise to admit that now, though.

She made herself stand up straight and said, "No, sir."

There was a long pause when no one said anything and Minerva desperately wanted not to look at Professor Dumbledore anymore, but to avert her gaze would have felt like an admission of guilt.

"I'm surprised at you, Miss McGonagall," he said eventually. "Defending others is a noble endeavour, but doing so by way of hurting someone else is surely not what you have been taught, not to mention against school rules."

Shocked, Minerva rocked backwards on her feet. She hadn't expected Professor Dumbledore to blame her. After all, she hadn't touched her wand, uttered a single incantation or even moved! There was no proof that she had done anything wrong. "But I didn't!" Minerva tried to defend her actions. "I didn't mean to…"

"I believe," Professor Dumbledore interrupted her in a voice so cold and disappointed as Minerva had never heard it before, "I asked you never to lie to me."

Even if she had known what to say to that, she couldn't have made her lips move.

"Now, I'll be accompanying Mr. Precourt to the hospital wing. Once Madam Hailstone proclaims him healthy enough, I want to see both of you," Dumbledore looked from Parker to Minerva, "in my office for detention."

He didn't explain what exactly that would entail. He simply turned around and when he left the common room, Minerva suddenly felt very, very small


	5. Christmas Cheer

**5\. Christmas Cheer**

"Minerva. Wake up, dear."

Sleepy and confused, Minerva opened her eyes and blinked up into her father's face. "What's wrong?" she mumbled.

"Nothing's wrong. I just need your help with something."

"But it's not even light out yet," Minerva protested. That wasn't completely true. Morning was dawning outside her window but only just barely.

Either way, her father wouldn't give up. "Early to bed and early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise," he said. "Go on now, and don't wake your brothers."

Minerva yawned heartily, but she did as she was told and got dressed. She had been looking forward to being back at home for the Christmas holidays, but she hadn't anticipated such a strange wake-up call. Her confusion only grew when her father ushered her outside into the garden.

Robert McGonagall had always been an early riser. He was a man of discipline who loved his routines. As a little girl, Minerva had often joined him on early morning walks to the church or the bakery. She had loved how quiet the village was when everyone was still sleeping or just getting up. And she had loved being alone with her father. Sometimes he had bought her some shortbread or a piece of Dundee cake and called it their little secret.

Now that Minerva had gotten used to three excellent meals a day at Hogwarts, the thought of being hauled out of bed for sweets wasn't quite as tempting anymore. But on this morning, her father didn't leave the garden that belonged to the manse they lived in. He just pointed Minerva in the direction of a little wooden shed that she hadn't noticed when she had arrived yesterday.

"What do you think? I've been building it for weeks."

"What is it?" Minerva asked, frowning. "A broom shed?" Suddenly she was wide awake, picturing a bunch of brooms in there for her and her brothers.

"Not quite. I was hoping to keep owls in there," her father explained.

"What?"

"Obviously, your mother and I want you to keep writing to us, and we want to keep writing to you. And once your brothers start going to Hogwarts, too, that'll be thrice as many owls. So I thought if I were to tell everyone that I'm breeding them, the owls wouldn't attract so much attention or raise uncomfortable questions anymore."

Surprised, Minerva looked from the shed to her father. "But won't people think it weird that you suddenly decided to start breeding owls?"

"Oh, certainly, but all men pick up strange hobbies when they hit middle age. Fergus has those small pigs of his, then there's Calum and his rhododendrons, and don't even get me started on Glenn and his bowling pins. I want to see one of them come up to me after a service to tell me that there's something wrong with my owls." Robert looked thoughtfully at the shed. "I installed a few nesting boxes, so perhaps some of them really will choose to breed, and then I won't have to lie to anyone."

Knowing how much her father hated that he had to be untruthful to his parishioners to protect his family's magical secret, Minerva beamed at him with a little more enthusiasm than she usually would have displayed for an owl shed. "It's brilliant, Papa!"

"Well, I was hoping that you didn't get it all from your mother," Robert smiled back at her. "But I'll need your help to actually get an owl. I assume the ones you use are sort of magical, too."

Minerva wasn't an expert on owls, and she knew of only one place where one could buy them. "We'd have to go to Diagon Alley."

To her continued surprise, her father nodded. "I told your mother I would be taking you out for some last-minute Christmas shopping. Of course, she rightly pointed out that we should have done that yesterday when we went to pick you up. But I actually do want to get a gift for your mother, too."

"Then we're going all the way to London?" Minerva asked excitedly.

"You didn't think that I pulled you out of bed at five in the morning to look at a broom shed, did you?"

Minerva flung her arms around her father's neck and he laughed.

She dashed back upstairs to get her robes and her wand. When her father saw that, the look on his face darkened.

"I hope you're not planning on doing any magic with that, young lady," he said.

"It's just to get us into Diagon Alley," Minerva promised and stuffed both into a backpack. She knew better than to violate the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery. Certainly after having been punished for what had happened with Parker and Drew's cat.

Robert sighed. "All right, I'll get us to London, but you'll have to make sure that we get back again."

They drove to the nearest train station by car, with Minerva drumming her fingers on the window, wishing they could have Apparated or even used the Floo Network. But then she felt bad for preferring magical ways of travel that would either be impossible for her father or make him feel extremely uncomfortable. So she didn't complain when they had to wait for the next train to go into London.

Once they were on board and seated by the window, Minerva remembered what her father had said earlier. "What do you want to get for Mama?"

"She knows about the owl shed, of course, so we can write to you children, but I thought it would also be the perfect opportunity to finally subscribe to that newspaper, the _Daily Prophet,_ is it?" he asked, lowering his voice. "Now that you're at… school, it's even more difficult for your mother not to know what's going on in your world. And I guess, I wouldn't mind knowing either."

The way he said 'your world' gave Minerva a little pang of sorrow, but she smiled. "That's a great idea," she said, because she did think it was.

"Only I wanted to ask them to only send the evening edition since it'll be less conspicuous at night." Robert paused. "Perhaps I can ask that professor of yours to only send owls in the evening as well."

Minerva jumped in her seat, having not seen this one coming. "Professor Dumbledore wrote to you?"

"Yes, he did. Something about an incident involving a cat…"

"It was an accident!" Minerva said quickly, but when she saw the stern look on her father's face, her shoulders slumped. "Fine, it wasn't _exactly_ an accident."

"Did I teach you that it was okay to hurt others?" Robert McGonagall asked, using his minister voice.

Minerva sighed. "No," she said meekly.

"Did I teach you that it was okay to lie?"

"No."

"Then I don't understand what made you act this way."

"Parker said something horrible," Minerva explained slowly.

"About me?" her father asked knowingly. "At least that's what your teacher hinted at."

Minerva nodded.

Her father leaned forward in his seat. "Listen, Minerva, I don't pretend to know everything that's going on in your life anymore. But I do know you. You're my daughter, and I raised you better than this."

"I know, and I'm sorry. I really am," Minerva assured him. She would never like Parker, but in hindsight, she wouldn't hurt him like that again. "And I got detention for it and everything…" she said, just in case her father had been thinking about punishing her, too.

"What exactly did you have to do in detention?" he asked curiously.

"Professor Dumbledore made me write lines. 'I shall not use my considerable talents to set other people's pets on my enemies'," she quoted. She was unlikely to forget that sentence any time soon.

Her father frowned. "Then it's a good thing that you don't have any pets, since that sounds like it would have been okay if you'd used your own cat." He had clearly expected her to laugh about this, but Minerva didn't feel like it. "Oh, don't make such a face. I'm not angry with you."

"But I think Professor Dumbledore is," she admitted.

"Did you tell him that you're sorry?" her father asked.

Minerva shrugged.

"I'd give that a try. An apology usually goes a long way. I hope you apologised to that boy, too."

Minerva rolled her eyes, but only when her father wasn't looking.

When they arrived in London, Minerva steered them towards the Leaky Cauldron, where she changed into her robes. Once she had opened the archway to Diagon Alley, remembering which bricks in the wall to tap, just like her mother had shown her a couple of months ago, her father didn't look quite so sure anymore that coming here had been a good idea.

"Don't worry, Papa," she said, taking his hand. She wasn't a little girl anymore and now it was time for her to lead the way. "I got you."

* * *

Christmas morning they gathered around the Christmas tree, all of them in a different coloured, tartan dressing gown. They had been a gift from the congregation, so of course they all had to wear them. At least, they were comfortable.

Junior and Malcom had already ripped open all their gifts and Minerva hadn't been far behind. She was quite happy because she had even gotten little presents from Augusta and Alison. The two owls who had delivered those gifts were now resting in their new shed, which in turn made her father happy. Not as happy, however, as presenting his gift to his wife, namely last night's edition of the _Evening Prophet._

Her brothers were busy playing with their new toys, but Minerva looked up to watch her mother's reaction. At first, the look in her eyes was pained when she saw the newspaper. Then she got curious and when Robert explained that he had taken out a prescription, her whole face lit up, shining a light on her beauty, which, incidentally, Minerva had not inherited.

Isobel McGonagall was fairer and prettier than her daughter and once she set her mind to something, there was no stopping her. This was one of those times.

"We should celebrate this with a round of Butterbeer," she said after she had heard the whole story of how Robert and Minerva had made it to Diagon Alley and back.

"What's that?" Robert asked warily.

"You'll like it. And the children can have some, too," Isobel said simply.

Junior's head whipped around immediately. "We can drink beer?"

"I want beer!" Malcom yelled excitedly.

"You will most certainly not be drinking anything of the sort," their father shut them down immediately.

Isobel rested a hand on his arm. "It's not Muggle beer, Robert. It's fine."

That didn't seem to reassure him, but he asked, "Where would you get it?"

"I could take Minerva and go grab some in Hogsmeade. It won't take long."

Now it was Minerva's turn to pay close attention. "Hogsmeade?" She had always wanted to go there, but she had thought she would have to wait till her third year.

"You want to go now?" Robert asked, confused.

"If you can take our daughter to Diagon Alley, I can certainly take her to Hogsmeade," Isobel said, standing up.

"But how?"

Isobel hesitated. "This is probably a good time to tell you that I got our fireplace connected to the Floo Network."

"The what now?" Robert asked, his eyes widening, and they stayed that way even after his wife had explained to him how the Floo Network worked. "And why exactly would we need that?"

"Well, what if there's an emergency at Hogwarts with one of the children and I'm not there and you need to get there on your own? With the Floo Network you could at least get as far as Hogsmeade, and then someone could probably walk you up to the castle."

Minerva's father looked at the fireplace as if he couldn't think of an emergency serious enough for him to go in there. "But… wizards are not just going to come out of there, are they?"

"Not any more than they'd come bursting through the front door," her mother replied somewhat impatiently. Noticing Minerva's indecision throughout this discussion between her parents, she added, "Go get dressed, Minerva."

And since she really wanted to go, she sprinted up the stairs before her mother could change her mind or her father could change it for her.

* * *

The castle was unusually quiet, even for the Christmas holidays. Even with the war behind them, both in the wizarding and the Muggle word, parents still seemed anxious to call their children back home when they got the chance.

Albus had used the free time to compose a letter to Nicholas, telling him about his newest discoveries, and to finish an article for _Transfiguration Today_ he had been meaning to hand in for a while. But eventually, the quiet got to him, and he found that his studies weren't sufficient to distract him any longer.

Fawkes let out a low musical cry.

"Yes, Merry Christmas to you, too," Albus said softly.

The phoenix cocked its head.

"It's just a saying, Fawkes. It's not my fault that it doesn't always feel all that merry," Albus replied. "If only they could see me now. Quite the hero, indeed…"

Staring at him without blinking, Fawkes cried again, more insistent this time.

"Are you suggesting that I should get out of here rather than pity myself? I suppose you're right," Albus said and got up, pausing to caress the phoenix' magnificent red and gold plumage. "Don't worry. I'll bring you back your favourite."

Albus left his private rooms and decided to walk down into Hogsmeade to see if Aberforth was in enough of a Christmas spirit to have a drink with him. He was just strolling down High Street when he spotted two faces he hadn't expected to see here today. Minerva McGonagall and her mother were just leaving the post office.

"Professor Dumbledore!"

"Hello, Isobel. Nice to see you again," he greeted the mother, causing the daughter to do a double take.

"You know each other?" she asked in that rather direct way Albus had already noticed about the girl.

"Who did you think taught me when I was at school?" Isobel said to her daughter.

Albus had indeed taught her once and so he knew that the good people of Caithness could count themselves lucky to have gotten a minister's wife like that. It was anyone's guess what Isobel could have achieved had she chosen to pursue a wizarding career. The same, Albus supposed, could now be said about her daughter.

Who was still staring, struck by the realisation how old her Transfiguration teacher had to be, or conversely, how young her mother still was.

"Sometimes it surprises me, too, how old I really am, but I do think I still look rather well for my age," Albus told her conspiratorially.

She seemed to be at a loss as to what to say to that, so he asked, "Are you having a good Christmas?"

"Yes, Professor, only…" She hesitated. "I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry about what happened. It was wrong, and I shouldn't have lied to you about it."

Albus smiled softly. "Thank you for saying that."

"Professor? Can I ask you a question?"

Albus chuckled. "I daresay you'll find that you can."

Miss McGonagall hesitated, trying to decipher that answer, but then she just went ahead and asked, "What will happen with Alison? She said you would give her until Christmas…"

Even though he had expected that question, Albus still hesitated with his answer. He really shouldn't be telling her this since it was none of her business. Then again, it was Christmas, and what was the point of Christmas if not to spread some Christmas joy? "Her magic improved enough for her to close out the year, and then we shall see," he thus informed her since she had been involved in the whole thing to some degree anyway. "Miss Quinn said that you helped her with some of her classwork."

Miss McGonagall nodded. "I tried."

"That was very kind of you. While it is clearly unwise to make an enemy of you, it seems to be equally beneficial to be your friend," he told her.

A smile brightened up her face, and her mother looked similarly delighted.

"We were just on our way to grab some Butterbeer," Isobel said. "Would you care to join us?"

"Oh no, I couldn't possibly intrude. I'm meeting someone in the Hog's Head."

"Of course," Isobel said. "Well, come along then, Minerva."

Minerva was about to follow her mother but turned around one more time. "Will we be starting on Untransfiguration after Christmas?" she asked eagerly.

Albus certainly appreciated her enthusiasm, but he said, "Your guess is as good as mine, since I haven't actually prepared the lesson yet. Teachers go on holiday, too, you know."

"Right, sorry, sir," she laughed. "Oh, and Merry Christmas, Professor!"

"Yes, a very Merry Christmas to you, too," Albus replied and watched the McGonagalls hurry off into the direction of the Three Broomsticks.

As he continued on his way to the Hog's Head, he found that he now felt rather more cheerful.


	6. Year's End

**6\. Year's End**

Gryffindor and Ravenclaw were neck to neck in the House Championship. With every correctly answered question, perfectly executed charm or flawlessly brewed potion for which the teachers awarded points the lead changed. Last year, Slytherin had won and lorded their victory over both Gryffindor and Ravenclaw students. So both houses were extremely eager to emerge victorious this year.

Minerva was as competitive as anyone, or rather more so. But she was faced with two complications. Firstly, she was extremely busy studying for the end-of-term exams that had come out of nowhere. She had only just returned to the castle after the Christmas holidays and suddenly Easter had been upon them and now it was June. Which meant that she was running out of time.

And secondly, she had kept her word to both her father and Professor Dumbledore and hadn't set any more cats on people. She had found that the easiest way to do that was to avoid unnecessary confrontation.

Unfortunately, the older Gryffindor and Ravenclaw students had taken to jinxing each other in the corridors. They were targeting the best students in the hope of sending them to the hospital wing for a while and thus preventing them from earning their respective house any more points. The first-years were usually exempt from such attacks since the Gryffindors were too noble to attack someone who was smaller than them and the Ravenclaws thought it was beneath them.

As it turned out, however, Minerva was the only exception since word had spread that the Sorting Hat had seriously considered to put her in Ravenclaw. The Ravenclaws seemed to take it as a personal insult that she was now earning points for the wrong house (and loads of them at that). Minerva was terrified of being cornered by a bunch of older Ravenclaw students because then her only options would be the hospital wing or to get in trouble again. And she didn't have time for either of those.

So Minerva avoided being in the corridors as best as she could. To her dismay, that did not only force her to stay out of the library, but it also meant that she couldn't go down to the Great Hall. Augusta, who thought that Minerva was pushing it a little too far but also commended her for her dedication to get Gryffindor the House Cup, sneaked food to the common room for her. Unfortunately, the choices were rather limited.

A couple of days in, Minerva was beginning to feel somewhat lightheaded on her diet of toast and cold sausages. And then her stomach rumbled loudly just when Professor Dumbledore had come over to her table to watch her turn her tea bag into a tea kettle. It was horribly embarrassing.

Her Head of House smiled. "Perhaps I should have asked you to turn it into a nice, hot bowl of soup instead."

"But, sir, isn't it impossible to conjure food as it is one of the Five Principal Exceptions to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration?" Minerva asked.

Professor Dumbledore looked at her down his crooked nose and chuckled. "So it is, not that I thought we would be discussing Gamp's Law just yet, but here we are. Would you also happen to know how we could get around this little problem of being quite hungry but unable to conjure food out of nothing?"

"Well, we could summon food from the kitchens, and once we had it, we could multiply or enlarge it," Minerva replied.

"So we could," Dumbledore nodded, pleased. "But under the circumstances I think it would be easier simply to wait a couple more minutes. Until then, that's ten points for Gryffindor for this very fine tea kettle and another ten for knowing certain laws of Transfiguration I have as of yet been unable to teach even some of your older fellow Gryffindors."

That sufficiently distracted Minerva from her hunger until the bell rang and the class started packing up, eager to get to lunch. Minerva was the only one who hung back. Augusta knew not to wait for her anymore.

"Hurry up, Miss McGonagall," Professor Dumbledore said, rounding his desk to leave as well. "We don't want to let that soup get cold. I think I can smell French onions."

"Actually, Professor, I was wondering if I could stay here and use your classroom to study for the exams? It's nice and quiet in here," Minerva asked. "And I won't break anything."

"I do believe you wouldn't, but I would prefer that you go to lunch anyway," Dumbledore replied, heading for the door and waiting for her to follow.

"But I'm not hung…" Minerva started to say and stopped herself just in time when she caught the look on Dumbledore's face and remembered that her stomach had already betrayed the truth. "Er… I just don't want to…" She faltered, unable to find a way to finish her sentence without telling a lie.

Professor Dumbledore looked at her thoughtfully. "Did I miss something? Did the food in Hogwarts suddenly go bad? Because I had a large breakfast this morning and I feel perfectly fine."

"It's not about the food," Minerva had to admit and she could tell, looking into Dumbledore's face, that she only had two choices. Go to lunch or tell him what was going on. "It's about getting to the food." And so she told him that she was worried about getting jumped by Ravenclaws.

"I see your reasoning," Dumbledore said, his brows creasing. "However, I feel that you would be putting your health in a lot more danger by missing another excellent Hogwarts meal. So, chop, chop."

He was holding the classroom door open for her and, knowing there was no point in arguing, Minerva went on her way.

Of course, this was the worst situation she could have landed herself in. The rest of her class had already gone ahead and now she made for an even easier target. She hurried along the corridors and had almost made it to the grand marble staircase when she felt something fly past her right ear and miss her by inches.

She should have just run down into the Entrance Hall, but Minerva was still a Gryffindor and she would not give anyone the chance to hit her in the back. So she whirled around and spotted a group of three older Ravenclaws, who tried to look nonchalant at first. But when they saw that Minerva was willing to fight them if she had to and that she was alone, they laughed and openly pointed their wands at her.

There was a flash of light and Minerva squeezed her eyes shut, sure that she would wake up in the hospital wing with sprouts growing out of her ears or something like that. But the only ones yelling were the Ravenclaws, though Minerva hadn't been able to think of a single spell to block all three of them.

She dared to open her eyes again and then she widened them some more in surprise. All three boys had been lifted a couple of inches into the air as if an invisible hand had grabbed them by the scruffs of their neck. They didn't seem to be in any pain at all, but they were completely helpless, their feet dangling above the ground they could no longer reach.

Minerva was about to burst out laughing, but then Professor Dumbledore appeared as if he had conjured himself out of thin air, which was of course impossible. Asking him how he had done this, however, didn't seem like a good idea right now, because he didn't look happy at all.

Nevertheless, his voice was perfectly calm when he asked her, "Are you all right, Miss McGonagall?"

"I'm fine, Professor," she nodded.

"Then please go on to lunch and have some of that wonderful French Onion soup for me, because Mr. Dale, Mr. Richardson and Mr. Wheeler and I will be here a while."

Minerva's gaze travelled from Dumbledore to the three Ravenclaws and she almost felt sorry for them. "Yes, Professor."

She hurried to get down to the Great Hall and warned every Gryffindor she met that they should stop jinxing people in the corridors. At first, they just waved her off, not interested in having a first-year tell them what to do. But when students started leaving the Great Hall, they all stopped and gaped at the hourglasses in the Entrance Hall.

Ravenclaw was suddenly one hundred and fifty points short, practically securing Gryffindor the House Cup. The story of what had happened spread like wildfire, even though the three responsible Ravenclaws did not show their faces again that day, which led half of the school to think that Professor Dumbledore had locked them up in the dungeons. Their fellow Ravenclaws were so upset with them that they seemed perfectly fine with that explanation. They also blamed Minerva even more than they had previously done. Since she was now also the hero of Gryffindor house, she didn't much care. She merely hoped that the Sorting Hat wasn't allowed to change his mind about the sorting when she came back to school next year.

She was pretty sure that Ravenclaw Tower would currently refuse to let her enter.

Later that day, Minerva passed Professor Dumbledore in the corridors which were now once again a safe place – or as safe as Hogwarts could reasonably be. "How's it looking?" Dumbledore asked her in passing.

"Excellent, sir," Minerva told him, thinking of the Gryffindor hourglass that was filled to bursting with rubies.

"Glad to hear it, because I happen to have just the spot for that cup in my office," Dumbledore replied, winking at her and making Minerva grin broadly.

* * *

"Full marks in her Charms exam, just like her mother," Cyrille said with a pleased smile. "The spitting image!"

"Well, not exactly," Herbert argued. "If I remember correctly, her mother was an extraordinarily pretty girl."

"So? I was talking about her magic, not her looks!" Cyrille countered and gave Herbert Beery a look of disgust as if he were the very dirt he usually had under his fingernails. She muttered a derisive "Men!" under her breath and seemed to include the other two Heads of House in that scathing criticism.

"Now, hold on a minute, Cyrille!" Horace protested at once. "I never said one bad word about the girl, and Albus most certainly didn't either. You can't proclaim yourself her champion simply because you're both girls!"

"Excuse me? I'm a woman, not a girl," Cyrille shot back.

Horace raised his hands in mock surrender. "Sorry, it's just hard to keep up with what you want to be called these days."

Cyrille's eyes bulged. "What in the name of Merlin's dirty underpants are you talking about? All we ever wanted was to be treated the same way as everyone else."

"Now that's not quite true, is it? Or why then would you expect me to hold open the door for you but not for Albus?" Horace asked.

Ravenclaw's Head of House opened her mouth to answer, but Albus cleared his throat before she could do so. "Could we perhaps return to the matter at hand? I believe it was you, Horace, who asked to get through this quickly so you could attend your party tonight?"

"Quite right, quite right. So, full marks for Miss McGonagall in Potions as well. I'd even give her an extra point for that very rare and perfectly translucent sheen of her Forgetfulness Potion."

Albus looked up from the piece of parchment upon which he was trying to record that which was of actual relevance in this conversation between the Heads of House. "There are no extra points to give, Horace."

"Well, that's a shame, because it was really a very pretty potion."

"Did you want to give extra points to male students who mixed pretty potions, too?" Cyrille asked sharply.

"Please, Cyrille," Albus said while Horace was still gaping at her. "Herbert?" he asked, turning to the Head of the Herbology department.

"Yes, yes, full marks, full marks," he said, nodding.

"Wouldn't it be faster if we checked if she didn't get full marks anywhere? History of Magic, perhaps? That's always a safe bet," Cyrille suggested since Professor Binns was currently not in the staffroom.

Albus waved his wand and Horace grabbed Miss McGonagall's written History exam as soon as it appeared. "Nope," he said with a grin, "full marks. Probably because all her answers sound as if she knew the entire textbook by heart, goodness gracious."

"But that's all Cuthbert does in his classes, isn't it?" Cyrille said rather dismissively. "He just reads to them from a textbook."

"Well, you can say about him what you will, but at least he won't pay attention to whether the female students are good-looking," Herbert noted cheekily.

Horace roared with laughter. "Very well said, Herbert! Excellent!"

"So," Albus said loudly since Cyrille looked positively murderous, "are we all in agreement that Miss McGonagall is ready to advance to her second year at Hogwarts?"

"Oh, certainly, certainly," Horace nodded. "Perhaps we should consider bumping her up to third year."

"You just want her to be old enough for you to invite her to your Slug Club parties!" Cyrille accused him.

"Sorry to disappoint you, Cyrille, but I only have Miss McGonagall's best interests at heart," Horace was quick to correct her. "A clever young witch like her… I just don't want her to get bored because bored students inevitably do something stupid and dangerous."

"I do think she has set her sights on playing Quidditch," Albus offered.

"Like I said, stupid and dangerous," Horace nodded.

"Excuse me?" Madam Hooch piped up. She was sitting in an armchair in the corner and had so far ignored them.

Horace sent an apologetic smile her way. "No offense, Rolanda! I hope I'll be seeing you at my party tonight?"

Albus made a final note on his parchment. "I think we're done here."

Feeling weary and quite ready not to talk to anyone for the rest of the evening, Albus later made his way back to his office. He had wiggled his way out of having to attend Horace's party and was looking forward to his armchair by the fire.

First, there was someone waiting for him outside his office, however. Minerva McGonagall was sitting on the floor with her nose in a book. Albus cleared his throat to get her attention and asked, "Has this entire castle suddenly run out of chairs?"

Looking sheepish, Miss McGonagall got to her feet. "No, I was just waiting for you, Professor."

Albus opened the door to his office and when he had sat down behind his desk, he rested his chin on his intertwined fingers and looked at his student, who was shuffling her feet. "And what is it that I can do for you on your second to last evening here at Hogwarts?"

"Well, I was thinking of borrowing a couple of books from the library for the holidays so I can work on what I got wrong in my exams, and I was wondering if you could tell me what subjects or areas I should focus on?"

Not surprised in the least that she was fishing for him to tell her how she had done in her exams, Albus smiled serenely. "Why don't you spend your summer holidays like the rest of your classmates undoubtedly will? By forgetting everything you've learned here this year and enjoying your two months of freedom?"

"But I don't want to forget anything I've learned!" she protested, looking scandalised.

"While I certainly applaud that, I cannot tell you which books to get from the library," Albus told her.

"Of course, sorry to disturb you, Professor," she said, trying not to look disappointed.

Albus chuckled. "Because you passed all of your exams with top marks. So if you wanted to improve on them, I would have to make something up and I'm rather too tired to do that."

Miss McGonagall just stood there, grinning, for the longest time.

"Anything else?" Albus asked.

"Yes, actually, I was also wondering if I might have a different Transfiguration teacher next year?"

There were not a lot of things in his life that could still surprise him, but Albus had not seen this one coming, and he found that he was rather ill equipped to answer her right away. He tried not to be more vain than the next man, but he couldn't deny that this was a rather significant blow to his ego.

"You do no longer wish me to teach you?" he asked, his voice carefully composed.

"Oh, no, no!" Miss McGonagall said quickly, the look on her face completely horrified. "I do want to be in your class! I really, really do! That's what I was worried about. If perhaps I could end up in a different one."

Clearly, an afternoon spent listening to Horace and Cyrille's bickering had dulled his senses and put him on edge. Otherwise, Albus thought, he would have never misunderstood her question like that. But that was neither here nor there now as he leaned back in his chair with a smile. "Don't worry. We usually do not switch classes unless there's a pressing reason for doing so," he said. "So I will be seeing you in autumn. And now, get out of here," he told her, but he did so with only mock sincerity.

She grinned and gave him a little wave before she left.


	7. Tryouts

**7\. ****Tryouts**

Impatiently, Minerva packed up her things. It was her first week back after the summer holidays and the teachers seemed to assume that most of their students had indeed forgotten everything they had learned in their first year at Hogwarts. They all started their lessons by doing a little revision, and so when the bell rang after Transfiguration, Minerva's desk was littered with a wide range of objects from simple needles to a whole tea set.

She left everything as it was and approached Professor Dumbledore's desk. "Hello, Professor," she said, since she hadn't spoken to him alone yet.

"Hello, Miss McGonagall, did you have a good summer?" he asked.

"Yes, Professor. But I'm excited for the new school year."

Dumbledore looked past her at all the successful Transfigurations she had managed today and smiled. "I can see that. But if you were looking for homework, I'll have to disappoint you."

"No, Professor, I just wanted to let you know that I would like to try out for the Gryffindor Quidditch team this year," she said.

Watching her over his half-moon spectacles, Dumbledore asked, "Did you get permission from your parents then?"

Minerva bit her lip. "Sort of."

"Would you like to elaborate on that?" Professor Dumbledore asked. It didn't sound like a request, though.

"My mother said it was okay. She was Quidditch captain herself once. My father said Quidditch sounded more dangerous than Rugby, which he wouldn't let Robert Junior play either."

"Rugby?" Dumbledore repeated curiously. "Which sport was that again?"

"It's really just two teams fighting over an oddly shaped ball until they end up in one giant heap of tangled limbs, blood and sweat," she tried to explain it very roughly.

Dumbledore chuckled. "Muggles do have the most interesting pastimes, don't they?"

"Uh, I guess," Minerva agreed. Personally, she had never seen the appeal in any of them. And she most certainly did not do so now that she knew what it was like to fly. "But, er, what about Quidditch, sir?"

His expression once again more serious, Professor Dumbledore asked, "Do you have a broom?"

"No." Since her father wasn't completely on board yet and since new racing brooms were quite expensive, she still didn't have one of her own and would have to borrow one of the school broomsticks. But she had decided not to let that stop her. "I'd like to try anyway."

Dumbledore gave a little nod. "I shall add your name to the list then before I pass it on to Mr. Royston."

"Thanks," Minerva smiled, then paused. "Are there many names on that list, sir?"

"A few," Dumbledore replied rather unhelpfully.

"Oh, okay, well, I'll see you at dinner then, Professor," Minerva said, finally turning to leave.

"Oh yes, today is 'Treacle Tart Tuesday', I believe. And good luck to you."

Minerva grinned and hurried after her fellow classmates. She couldn't wait for the tryouts. She even had a harder time focussing on school until the date and time of the Gryffindor team tryouts were finally posted on the notice board in the common room.

Augusta walked down to the Quidditch pitch with her for moral support, which Minerva appreciated once she saw the turnout. It wasn't just the Gryffindor Quidditch team and everyone who hoped to join; many more Gryffindors had come down from breakfast to watch out of curiosity, since it was a Saturday morning and reasonably good weather.

Noah Royston had only just been named captain and it showed in the way he held on to his clipboard a little too tightly. Clearly, he was anxious to make the right choices for the team. If the players he picked turned out to be dreadful and they lost them a chance to win, it would reflect badly on him, too. And he had no less than three spots to fill. The Chasers and Beaters were both down a man and, perhaps most importantly, they needed a new Seeker, too. All three of these players had graduated last year and left the Gryffindor Quidditch team in a bit of a disarray.

Clutching her borrowed broom to her chest, Minerva surveyed the competition. She was not the youngest student on the pitch today. There were two first-years who were also holding school brooms, and now that Minerva was in her second year, they looked very small to her. She was more worried about Duncan Bayfield from her year, whose presence here was not very surprising since he'd been telling everyone about his new broom for ages. And then there were lots of older students, who had both better brooms and more height and experience. But since they didn't seem worried about Minerva, Minerva tried not to worry about them either. Most of them wanted to be Seeker anyway.

Including Duncan. Royston had decided to start with the Seeker, probably thinking that this was his most important decision of the day, and when he asked everyone who was interested in playing Seeker to step forward, more than half of all waiting students did.

Minerva and Augusta settled on the ground to watch. It wasn't pretty. There were a couple of naturally born fliers, but that did not make them naturally born Seekers. Some had trouble spotting the Snitch until it was practically zooming right up their noses and others simply couldn't break fast enough to catch it. They kept overshooting it by a mile. Funnily enough, Duncan really was the best of the lot. He was smaller yes, but faster and more mobile, too, on his new Comet 180. Still, Royston didn't look particularly thrilled to let a second-year play Seeker for him. Minerva hoped that wasn't a bad sign.

The Beaters were next, and it looked as though Royston tried to make up for Duncan's slight build by choosing the biggest fifth-year who tried out for the position. Kyle Tarney looked rather ferocious on a broom and he had good aim, so Minerva was hopeful that he would be a good addition to the team.

She couldn't pass judgment on the others, however, because it was finally time for the Chasers. Now that it was Minerva's turn, she desperately wanted to steal Duncan's broom. She was riding a Cleansweep One, the best the school had to offer, and it simply wasn't as fast. And since it had been in the school's service for so long and hadn't always been handled with the greatest care, it tended to break out to the left at the most inopportune times.

Like when Minerva was just about to score. Royston had divided them into groups of three and asked them to play against each other. Minerva had caught the Quaffle when a third-year called Ben Voysey had dropped it. She was speeding towards the goalposts as fast as her broom would let her. One of the Chasers from the opposite team tried to block her, but Minerva dived quickly – a move she had practised in her flying lessons last year whenever Madam Hooch hadn't looked too closely.

Just when Minerva was about to aim, though, her broom jerked to the left and the Quaffle went wide, missing the hoop she had aimed at by a wide margin. Kenny Howes, the Gryffindor Keeper, didn't even go after the Quaffle, too busy laughing. Angry with herself, her broom and Kenny, Minerva gave a burst of speed and dived after the Quaffle to catch it. Then she looped back fast and aimed again. Still laughing, Kenny wasn't ready for that manoeuvre and this time Minerva scored, which was the best way to make the Keeper shut up.

When Royston signalled her, Minerva landed and watched the remaining candidates. Augusta gave her an encouraging thumbs up, but Minerva wasn't happy with her performance. Eventually, Royston walked over to her.

"I've picked Marigold to be our third Chaser. She was the best by far," he told her, not bothering to mince words. Then again, it had been a long couple of hours for all of them. "But I'd like you, Clarke and Greenbloom to come on as reserve players. I really like the way you fly. Sure, you missed once, but that move you made afterwards was great. I think I'll use that for our next game if you don't mind. And if you had a better broom, you know..."

"Thanks, Noah," Minerva said, trying to manage her disappointment. She had always known that beating out all these other Gryffindors on a school broom would be difficult.

As if to rub it in, Duncan walked over to her. "Told you I'd get in on this beauty," he said, patting his Comet.

"Yeah, well, congratulations, Duncan," she replied, because it was the polite thing to do and because she had a feeling that he would stop gloating as soon as the pressure of winning the game actually rested on his shoulders.

"Sorry that you didn't make the starting line-up," he added, catching her by surprise. "Would have been fun not to be the only one from our year."

"You'll have to do better than me then and not make us look bad."

"Better than you? Is that even a thing?" Duncan grinned.

Minerva supposed it was a compliment, but she wasn't in the mood for it.

Royston made a couple of announcements and scheduled their first practice while the onlookers slowly got bored and returned to the castle. Minerva let Augusta know that she should go ahead without her. When Royston decided that they were done for today, she returned her broom, left the Quidditch pitch and found a spot by the lake to do some of her reading. She knew the Gryffindor common room would be abuzz with the news of who had made the team and busy discussing their chances of winning the Cup this year. Right now, Minerva felt like she was a part of that and at the same time she wasn't. And so studying seemed a lot easier than to listen to all that talk.

She read until the light began to fade. Then she slowly made her way back up to the castle and stopped on the stone steps that led up to the front doors when the sunset caught her eye. Sinking onto the steps, Minerva watched as the sun painted the sky a deep red.

"Marvellous, isn't it?"

Minerva craned her neck, but before she could even think to get back to her feet, Professor Dumbledore had simply sat down next to her.

Since Minerva was only blinking at him stupidly, he continued, "Not even the most brilliant piece of magic could have painted it any better. A great reminder not to take ourselves too seriously, I think."

He winked at her as if they were sharing a secret, sitting here on the front steps, bathed in the reddish-gold rays of the dying sun. Minerva wasn't completely sure if she understood, but the mysterious beauty of the Scottish hills reminded her without a doubt that this was home.

"I'm sure you could have created something equally beautiful, sir," she said eventually.

"I'm flattered by your faith in me, as misplaced as it might be," Professor Dumbledore replied.

Minerva frowned. "But can't you practically do anything, Professor?"

"Alas, no. Nor would I want to."

"Why not?"

"That would make life dreadfully boring, wouldn't it?" His spectacles glittered in the low sun.

Minerva shrugged. "At least there wouldn't be any more nasty surprises."

"There would also be no more good surprises," Dumbledore countered.

"Are you saying that there is always more than one way to look at things?" Minerva asked.

"That does sound like something I might say, doesn't it?" Dumbledore looked amused.

Minerva waited for her Head of House to say more. But he continued to watch the sunset as if he regularly left the castle to sit here and do just that.

In the end, it was Minerva who broke the silence. "I didn't make the Quidditch team, Professor."

"Didn't you?" Dumbledore replied lightly, his eyes still on the horizon. "I distinctly recall seeing your name on the piece of parchment Mr. Royston gave me."

For a second there, Minerva's heart had sped up, silly enough to hope that Professor Dumbledore had overruled Noah's decision, which of course he would never do (and she wouldn't really want him to either). Her shoulders slumped. "Only as a reserve player," she pointed out.

"Does this not mean that you will practise with the team?" Dumbledore asked.

"Er, no, it does," Minerva said, remembering that Royston had scheduled their first practice for next Wednesday.

"And should one of your fellow Chasers ever feel unable to play, which we shouldn't hope for, of course, won't you take their spot?"

"Yes, sir," Minerva had to nod.

Now Professor Dumbledore turned his head to meet her gaze. "I might be wrong, but that sounds to me like you did make the team – and on a school broom no less."

Minerva gaped at him. As much as she had tried to focus on her reading, she had been thinking about this all day, her disappointment in herself pulling her under. But now that Professor Dumbledore had shifted her focus from not being in the starting line-up to being a part of all team activities in the ideal position to practise her flying and get better, she suddenly felt a lot lighter. She really had needed a different way to look at it.

"I see what you did there, Professor," she said.

"I was under the impression that I was merely watching this particularly mesmerizing sunset," Dumbledore said, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

Minerva smiled. "That was a great idea then, Professor."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Well, I do have my moments."


	8. Unfogging the Future

**8\. Unfogging the Future **

Albus had never understood why someone had thought it would be a good idea not to hand out presents for Easter but to hide them. The problem with that proceeding seemed blatantly obvious to him. What if those gifts were so well hidden that they proved nearly impossible to find? And what if, consequently, they began to smell? Perhaps, that was only a problem, though, when one of your colleagues was named Horace Slughorn.

Horace, apparently, had felt particularly puckish this year, or maybe the generous amount of mead had been to blame. During one of his Slug parties, he had revealed a bunch of Easter eggs filled with different useful Potions he had prepared personally. He had then proceeded to hide those eggs all over the castle. It had sounded like a fun idea (and Albus was the last person to try and spoil Horace's fun). Unfortunately, Horace had proven a little too competitive and careless at the same time.

First, he had made his eggs unplottable, and then he had promptly forgotten where he had hidden them. Some had been found, but certainly not all, and one after the other his guests had given up the search. And now, a couple of days later, the castle was beginning to smell.

Even worse, Albus was now detecting that smell in his own office. At first, he thought he was imagining it because he had already spent the better part of the afternoon searching the castle for the little troublemakers. After several more minutes, however, he was quite certain that there had to be one in here as well.

"Oh, my dear Horace," Albus muttered and got up from behind his desk.

'_Ovum revelio!'_ he thought with his wand in his hand as he stood to survey the room. Nothing happened, and he hadn't really thought it would. There was no reason why this one should be easier to find than the others, thanks to Horace's Unplottable Charm.

Heaving a sigh, Albus began to slowly pass his wand over every piece of furniture in his study, muttering a powerful Detection Spell.

Just when the fireplace grate began to glow and rattle, there was a knock on the door and Albus called 'Enter' over the back of his shoulder. A large red egg came zooming out of the fireplace and the grate quickly jumped out of the way, allowing the egg to shoot up in the air. Albus pointed his wand at it and it burst into a kaleidoscope of butterflies that engulfed Miss McGonagall, who was now standing in the doorway.

Her eyes round with surprise, she said, "Uh, you wanted to see me, Professor? Or is this a bad time?"

"Oh no, this was just a little Easter egg mishap," Albus replied by way of apology and explanation. "Please, do come in."

"They are very nice, sir," Miss McGonagall said, glancing up at the colourful insects.

"They really are, aren't they?" Albus agreed, rounding his desk to sit back down. "There must have been a Beautification Potion inside that egg."

Miss McGonagall walked towards the chair in front of his desk and sat down. "Or you just make very pretty butterflies, sir."

Albus laughed. "Be that as it may, I'm sure they would much rather be outside." He pointed his wand at the window behind him. It sprang open and one after the other the butterflies found their way out onto the grounds.

"How long will they last, Professor?" Miss McGonagall asked curiously.

"Every Transfiguration will wear off eventually. How long it lasts depends on the skill of the witch or wizard who performed it and the properties of the material that was transformed. So in this case, since both the egg and the potion inside of it were already deteriorating, they won't live very long, I'm afraid."

"But surely longer than if anyone else but you had created them," Miss McGonagall said.

Albus suppressed a smile. "Perhaps. That is a discussion better left for our next lesson, however. We wouldn't want to deprive your classmates of a chance to learn something, now would we?" She nodded, and Albus reached for a scroll of parchment that was already waiting on his desk. "What I did want to talk to you about is your choice in subjects that you wish to study here at Hogwarts next year." He glanced at the parchment where Miss McGonagall had marked that she wanted to take Study of Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, Divination, Muggle Studies and Care of Magical Creatures. "Or rather, your lack of such a choice."

She didn't say anything, but she did squirm a little in her seat, clearly not surprised that this was what she had been asked to come here for. She had probably talked to her classmates and realised that no one but her had chosen all five subjects.

"You did read the part where it said that you should choose a minimum of two, but that it would be inadvisable to choose more than three?" Albus asked.

"It didn't say it was forbidden," Miss McGonagall defended herself.

"It isn't. Far be it from us to tell any student who wishes to learn that they cannot do so," Albus said. "However, to study simply for study's sake is not always the wisest course of action, nor the most sensible way to make use of our time. Muggle Studies, for example…"

"I know people sort of laugh about it, but it isn't any less important than any of the other subjects!" Miss McGonagall interrupted him fiercely.

Albus wasn't surprised that she felt strongly about this and so he decided to overlook her cutting him off like that. "One could even argue that it is in fact a lot more important than some of them," he nodded thoughtfully, which brought her up short. "It would do many Hogwarts' students a lot of good to take this class. But given your pre-existing knowledge of the subject, I'm not sure you're one of them."

Clearly not ready to back down just yet, she met his gaze squarely. "I thought it would be useful to learn more about Muggle–wizarding relations."

"Very useful, indeed," Albus agreed. He had tried to talk to Armando about updating the syllabus on several occasions, but the headmaster had mostly laughed it off and told him to stick to his own department. "However, as it is currently taught at Hogwarts, Muggle Studies focuses rather on the history and daily lives of Muggles and how they compensate for not having any magic in their lives, which, having been born and raised in a Muggle village, you would already know."

"Oh," she said, finally dropping her gaze.

"Of course, it is up to you whether you wish to study the matter further, but I must impress upon you that the workload of five additional subjects would be quite substantial."

"You don't think I could do it?" she asked, looking up again quickly, almost accusatory.

Sometimes Albus wondered why the Sorting Hat had taken so long to make his decision. Miss McGonagall's temperament was as Gryffindor-ish as they came. "It's not about whether or not you can, it's about whether you need to," he replied calmly.

He gave her some time to think about that before he continued, "Which brings me to Divination."

"What's wrong with Divination?"

"I didn't say there was anything wrong with it, nor will you ever hear me say that there is something wrong with any of the subjects taught at this school. They all have their own merits. However…" Albus paused, looking for the right way to put this without crossing any lines he shouldn't cross. "Divination is known to be an inexact science, which means it is quite far removed from Transfiguration, which, I think we can both agree, you have so far shown a rather uncanny knack for."

There was another short silence. "Have you studied Divination, Professor?" Miss McGonagall asked eventually.

"I have not," Albus admitted. "Which perhaps makes me the wrong person to give you advice on the matter. But I have been told that one needs a particular sensibility of mind and body for Divination, while Arithmancy applies a more rigorous and methodical approach when it comes to predicting the future, which is why I'm sure you'll do fine with the latter."

It was quite amusing to watch Miss McGonagall, who looked to be at war with herself. She seemed to believe him or at least value his opinion, but she was also still very curious to find out for herself.

"Tell you what. Why don't I talk to Professor Narramore and ask her if you could sit in on one of her lessons next week? That should give you a better idea of what you're dealing with," Albus suggested eventually.

"Would you do that, Professor?" Miss McGonagall asked, taking an instant liking to the idea.

"It's no trouble," he assured her. In fact, it would be a whole lot more trouble if she insisted on taking all five subjects. But Albus saw no reason to tell her that just yet.

* * *

"It's all the way up there?"

Minerva stood at the foot of the North Tower and glanced dubiously up the stairs. It couldn't be as high up as the Astronomy Tower, but it still looked like a lot of stairs. And climbing up one tower to get to her lessons was bad enough, she wasn't anxious to make it two.

"I'm afraid so," said Professor Dumbledore, who had offered to show Minerva the way to her trial lesson in Divination. "Of course, it is not too late to change your mind. Professor Narramore is expecting you, but being our Divination teacher, I suppose she would have already foreseen that you would have a change of heart. Now that I think about it, that would be a rather brilliant way of testing the practical benefits of this particular subject."

Minerva looked up at her teacher with a frown. He seemed to be rather enjoying himself. But the ramifications of this decision she had to make were too important for her to feel much like laughing. Which also meant that she couldn't let a couple of stairs stop her. She squared her shoulders. "No, I'm going up."

"Have a good lesson then," Professor Dumbledore nodded.

"Aren't you coming, Professor?" Minerva asked, surprised.

"Oh no, Professor Narramore prefers me not to set foot into her classroom. Apparently, I'm not conductive to an open-minded and clairvoyant atmosphere." He chuckled.

Minerva stared at her Head of House. "What does that mean?"

Dumbledore smiled at her pleasantly. "Oh, I couldn't tell you. Only one way to find out." He pointed upwards.

"Right," Minerva said. With one last look back at the curious smile on Professor Dumbledore's lips, she started climbing.

It seemed to take twice as long as climbing the Astronomy Tower, but perhaps she was dragging her feet a little. Despite his assurances to the contrary, Professor Dumbledore didn't seem to take the matter of studying Divination very seriously, which made Minerva feel very strange about being here.

At least, Professor Dumbledore had been kind enough to arrange for her to sit in on a Divination lesson with fellow Gryffindors. They were third-years, but she knew most of their names from hanging out in the common room, so she didn't feel completely out of place as they waited for class to begin. Minerva hadn't actually figured out where the classroom was exactly, but she was quickly enlightened when a circular trap door above their heads opened and a silvery ladder descended slowly. A brass plaque on the trap door said _'Foresee the Unforeseen'_.

The other Gryffindors didn't hesitate to climb the ladder, clearly used to it. But Minerva thought that this was an overly dramatic way to start every class. She was the last to climb the ladder and emerged into the strangest classroom she had ever seen. It was crammed with small, circular tables, old armchairs and fat, little pouffes that looked terribly ugly. All the curtains were closed, even though it was a bright and sunny spring day. As a result, it was uncomfortably warm and kind of smelly.

For a moment, Minerva was on the verge of climbing right back down the ladder, but a voice floated towards her, stopping her in her tracks.

"Ah, you must be the student Professor Dumbledore told me about. The one who wishes to sample my class before deciding if it is worthy of her time."

Minerva froze. She hadn't realised that asking to sit in on a lesson like this might be somewhat offensive. She hadn't meant to be rude. Then again, she felt she had the right to make an informed decision.

Her response died on her tongue, however, when she spotted Professor Narramore. Minerva had never paid much attention to her or seen her up close. She was huge. Wide enough to make Minerva wonder for how much longer she would still fit through that trap door. Her honey-coloured hair sat like a beehive on top of her head, giving her extra height as well. To add insult to injury, she was dressed in a very colourful mix between robes and a toga.

Misinterpreting Minerva's shocked silence as awe or perhaps fear, Professor Narramore said, "But, of course, you shouldn't be blamed for your ignorance. It is not your fault that the transcendent art of Divination is not given its due at this school, being only an elective." She paused as if giving them all a chance to voice their agreement, but no one did. Minerva still didn't know what to say. "Sit then, child, and listen, and you shall find that your whole future is right in front of you."

Well, yes, Minerva thought, she was here to figure out what her future might look like, but she rather hoped it would have nothing to do with a strange and stuffy room like this. Still, she sat at a table that was empty except for a white, round orb in its centre.

"Last week, we started the very difficult and subtle practice of Crystal-gazing," Professor Narramore said to the whole class, mostly for Minerva's benefit, but some of the other students looked drowsy enough to have forgotten what they were here for. "I hope you have all done as I have told you and practised to clear your minds. Now pair up and begin."

Minerva was alone at her table and so Professor Narramore approached her. "Naturally, one wouldn't usually start studying Divination by attempting something this advanced, but it should tell us soon enough if you have the gift, my dear."

"What gift, Professor?" Minerva asked.

"_The_ gift," Professor Narramore repeated dramatically, which didn't tell Minerva anything at all. "The gift to See, of course." She nodded at the white orb in front of her.

"What exactly should I be seeing, Professor?" Minerva wondered.

"I couldn't possibly tell you that, my child."

Repeatedly being referred to as a child annoyed Minerva a great deal. She was thirteen, not three. Perhaps that was why her next question was rather direct. "But isn't that sort of your job?"

Professor Narramore narrowed her eyes at her. "_My job_ is to guide you, nothing more."

"So, you can't actually do it yourself?" Minerva asked before she could stop herself.

"Of course, I can do it!" Narramore snapped. "But it's you who's supposed to learn how to do it, unless you've come here simply to waste my time."

"No, Professor, but you still haven't told me what to do!" Minerva protested.

"Relax your conscious mind and your external eyes and then gaze into the depth of the crystal ball! Let it show you your path."

Minerva looked at the ball, but she found it very hard to relax while Professor Narramore was glaring at her and she was beginning to feel uncomfortably hot from the warmth in the room that had only gotten worse with so many students crammed into it. The crystal ball wasn't very cooperative either. It hadn't changed one bit.

Sensing that Minerva wasn't making much headway, Professor Narramore continued with her instructions. "Take a deep breath to cleanse yourself and let go of everything that keeps you tied to the mundane!"

Wrinkling her nose, Minerva hesitated. The room hadn't exactly smelled good to begin with, but now that the sweat of so many bodies had begun to mingle with the incense in the air, it was quite sickening. "I'd really rather not, Professor."

"Don't be silly, girl! Take a breath and open your eye!"

"My eyes are already open, Professor," Minerva pointed out, confused.

"Your Inner Eye!" Professor Narramore explained, sounding exasperated, which Minerva thought was rather unfair.

She had no clue what an Inner Eye was supposed to be, but if she had one, it was completely unresponsive. Perhaps it had been smart enough to flee the room when it had the chance. Still staring at the crystal ball, Minerva could see nothing but swirling white fog. Unless Professor Narramore was looking for tomorrow's weather forecast, that wasn't very helpful.

"So?" the Divination teacher prompted her impatiently.

"I don't know what you want me to say, Professor," Minerva was forced to admit. "There's nothing there."

Professor Narramore sighed. "Nothing? Well, that's a disappointment. And they told me you were smart," she added mostly to herself, but everyone heard and everyone laughed.

"Smart enough to know that this is just a pretty piece of glass that could no longer tell me my future than any other inanimate object in this room!" Minerva said. Unlike her Inner Eye, her anger was very real.

"Oh, you poor thing, I fear I have to tell you that I have never met a student whose mind was as firmly closed and unwilling to learn as yours."

Unwilling to learn? She was the best student in her year! Had been for two years now. Minerva could hardly find the words to speak. She had never been this upset with a teacher before. "I am here to learn! I asked to take this class!" she said, standing up.

Professor Narramore smiled at her pitifully. "Yes, and I'm glad you did. I knew, of course, that it would end this way, but I didn't have it in me not to give you a chance at least. However, I must inform you that you are entirely unqualified for studying Divination, and I cannot permit you to start taking my classes next year."

Minerva stared at her for what might have been a whole minute. "You're saying that I'm not allowed to study Divination?"

"I am."

"But... you can't. Every student in Hogwarts has the right to choose every subject they want!" Just a couple of minutes ago, Minerva had been quite certain that she did not want to study Divination, but now that she was being told that she couldn't...

"Well, then you'll have to be the exception, because I forbid it. Now sit down and be quiet, so I can teach the students who actually stand a chance of learning."

Professor Narramore turned away from her and, gritting her teeth, Minerva had to sit back down.

For the rest of the lesson, she sat there, stewing in anger and humiliation. Her initial scepticism upon entering this room grew into a three-headed monster of utter disbelief, deep contempt and pure loathing.

When the bell rang, she shot out of her chair so fast, she was first to the ladder and had then made her way back down to the foot of the North Tower before some of the other students had even finished packing up. She ran all the way to Professor Dumbledore's office and the door swung open to allow her entry before her fist had even touched it. In fact, it very nearly jumped off its hinges.

"She banned me!" Minerva yelled.

Professor Dumbledore looked up from a pile of student essays and blinked at her. "I beg your pardon?"

"Professor Narramore banned me from attending her classes!" Minerva repeated heatedly.

Her Head of House opened his mouth to say something, but then he closed it again, the expression on his face unreadable. Was it surprise? Anger? Exasperation? Amusement? Disbelief? All of the above?

Whatever it was, it wasn't helpful. "She can't do that, can she?" Minerva pressed.

When Dumbledore finally spoke, he said, "Would you please close the door? Gently," he added pointedly.

Minerva did as she was told and sat down.

"Now, what happened exactly?"

Reluctantly, Minerva told him all about that horrible lesson and Professor Dumbledore listened with an expression of polite interest and without interrupting her. But when she got to the part where the only prediction the crystal ball had shown her was that they were about to get an unusual amount of fog for this time of year, Minerva saw Dumbledore's lips twitch.

"It's not funny, Professor!" she burst out.

"Your righteous indignation is understandable," Professor Dumbledore said, but he sounded a little weary. She should probably stop yelling at him. "Professor Narramore has, of course, a right to her opinion, and it does sound to me like you judged her every bit as harshly as she judged you."

Minerva opened her mouth to defend herself, but Dumbledore merely continued, "However, Professor Narramore is a teacher and so she was not in the right in voicing her opinion like that or discriminating against you, and I will remind her of that, should you want to participate in her classes. But the question, I believe, remains. Do you wish to study Divination?"

"You would make sure I could take her class next year?" Minerva asked thoughtfully.

"Like I said, Hogwarts has never turned away a student who was willing to learn, and I wouldn't be teaching here if it had."

A vengeful little part of her wanted to take the bloody subject just to prove to Narramore that she could. But now that Professor Dumbledore had pledged his support and Minerva could picture him putting the Divination teacher in her place, her anger began to dissipate, and as soon as it did, the voice of reason easily won out.

"No, I don't want to take Divination," she said resolutely. "The whole thing is a joke and Narramore is a crazy..."

"_Professor_ Narramore," Dumbledore interrupted her, an unmistakable warning in his voice not to finish that sentence.

Minerva held her tongue and Dumbledore's expression brightened. "Well, that's settled then," he said and reached for the piece of parchment with her choice of electives on it to cross out Divination. Perhaps Minerva was imagining it, but he seemed to do it with a rather satisfied flick of his wand.

"I will also not be taking Care of Magical Creatures," Minerva told him.

"Oh?" Dumbledore said, raising an eyebrow.

"I heard what you said about Muggle Studies, Professor. But I did some reading and for some jobs it is at least preferable to have taken Muggle Studies at some point. And I don't think I will ever work with magical creatures," she explained.

Professor Dumbledore smiled at her. "Sounds to me as if you will handle your future just fine without crystal balls of any kind."

Relieved that he seemed to approve, Minerva leaned back in her chair.

"Are you still not happy with your choice?" Dumbledore asked after a moment of silence.

"No, I am. It's just..." Minerva trailed off. She knew it was silly, arrogant even, but to be told by a teacher that she was no good at something, it still irked her.

Dumbledore read her thoughts with ease. "Do take heart. I have never had much of an Inner Eye either and I have yet to encounter a situation where some good old common sense and a little bit of guesswork failed to achieve the same end. Though, I suppose, it would be nice to know in advance if they'll be serving kipper for breakfast again tomorrow..."

Minerva laughed and she was slowly beginning to look forward to her third year and her new subjects.


	9. Before the Fall

**9\. Before the Fall**

"Can we get my wand next? But I don't want one with unicorn hair in it. Unicorns are for girls!"

Wishing for the umpteenth time that she could have done her shopping in Diagon Alley alone with only one of her parents as she had done the two years previously, Minerva glared at her younger brother.

"That's rubbish! My wand doesn't have unicorn hair in it either," she told him.

Robert Junior looked at her with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Well, you don't always look like much of a girl."

Swallowing her anger, Minerva settled for a wicked grin. "Fine, then don't come running to me when they make you sleep in the dungeons for forgetting to do your homework. Because evidently, I'm not your big sister."

Junior, who always managed to forget one thing or another because he was too eager to move on to the next, paled. "They can't make me sleep in the dungeons, can they? Mama!"

He ran back over to their parents who had stopped outside Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour to discuss something. Minerva expected to be told off for lying to her brother (it was just so hard not to sometimes), but her mother merely waved Junior off.

"Go get some ice cream and wait here for us, yes?" She said, handing him the money.

Suspicious, Junior looked from the Sickles in his hand to his parents. "Where are you going?"

"We'll be just a moment, son. Get me a vanilla-flavoured one, if that's something they sell here," Robert McGonagall Senior said and then he rested a hand on Minerva's shoulder and steered her away with him.

"Um, we're not just leaving him there, are we?" she wondered, looking back over her shoulder. "Because he wasn't that annoying."

"Oh, honestly, Minerva," her mother snorted.

Okay, she knew her parents wouldn't just leave Junior, but she was a little confused by what was going on. "Then what...?"

"We've told you this before, of course, but we really are very pleased that you've finished top of your class two years in a row now," her mother said, smiling proudly.

"And you'll be turning fourteen in October, meaning you're well on your way to becoming a young lady," her father added.

"And that's why we decided to get you your birthday and Christmas present a little early this year," her mother continued.

Minerva looked back and forth between them and then she noticed the shop their parents had stopped at. It was Quality Quidditch Supplies.

Her eyes lit up with excitement. Suddenly, trailing her brother as he took forever to get all of his first-year equipment was completely worth it. "You're buying me a broom? And you won't mind me playing Quidditch anymore?" The latter was directed at her father.

"Well, I can't say I understand the fascination, but I do understand that you're talented, and I wouldn't dream of holding you back, so..."

He broke off because there really was no holding Minerva back when she wrapped her arms around him to hug him and then her mother.

* * *

And there was definitely no holding her back when Noah Royston saw her fly on her new broom at their first Quidditch practice of the year. By the end of the night, he had moved her from the reserve to the starting line-up, and Minerva felt like she was flying even when she wasn't.

In her next Transfiguration lesson they started working on simple Switching Spells and they were supposed to make the golden and silver goblets on each of their tables switch colours. When Minerva lowered her wand, her goblets had done just that, but they had also sprouted wings and lifted off her desk and started zooming through the classroom like oddly shaped and not very aerodynamic Snitches – much to the amusement of Minerva's fellow classmates who preferred to watch Minerva's creations rather than keep working on their own.

"Sorry, Professor," said Minerva to Professor Dumbledore, who had just been forced to duck to avoid collision with the previously silver now golden goblet. "I'll get them back down," she added as she clambered onto her chair for additional height.

"This isn't a Charms lesson, Miss McGonagall. Perhaps you better save your personal creativity for Professor Sowerby's class this afternoon," Dumbledore advised her, but he sounded neither bothered nor concerned.

Minerva's teammates thought it was a very funny story and suggested practising with her 'Goblitches', as they had dubbed them. That idea was quickly nixed, but they had a good practice all the same. The team was in great shape. Minerva was the only new addition to the starting line-up, but she worked well together with Marigold Appleby and Troy Forrester, her fellow Chasers. They gave Kenny Howes, who still played Keeper for them but had long since stopped laughing at Minerva, quite a hard time. Noah Royston, who returned for his second year as team captain, and Kyle Tarney sent Bludgers flying all over the field. Duncan Bayfield showed off on his broom as usual, circling high above the field, waiting to do his part as Seeker.

Minerva had just secured the Quaffle and was on her way to the goalposts, thinking about how she might fake going for the right hoop and then actually aim for the left, when she heard Royston yell, "Pull up! Pull up!"

Confused, she broke off her attack, but then quickly realised that Noah wasn't talking to her. The Snitch had appeared at the other end of the pitch near the bottom of the goalposts and Duncan was diving for it. But he was going way too fast and too close to the ground, trying out a faint that was supposed to confuse the opposing Seeker in a real match. It looked good, but Noah was right. Duncan needed to pull up now, and he did. But it wasn't fast enough.

And then he crashed to the ground.

The whole team landed next to him in an instant, anxiously huddling around their fallen Seeker. He was unconscious, but that was probably a good thing because his arms and legs stuck out in very odd angles.

Marigold let out a scream when she saw that.

Noah was white-faced and muttered, "We need to get him to the hospital wing quickly!"

While he and Kyle argued whether they could carry him back up to the castle, Minerva had already figured that they would need a stretcher. She didn't dare try to conjure one because they hadn't even gotten close to Conjuration in class yet, and so she looked desperately for something she stood a chance of transfiguring. Her eyes landed on one of the school brooms.

Well, close enough. She waved her wand and prayed that the stretcher that obediently floated towards them would actually hold Duncan and not turn back into a broom halfway there. It worked, though, and Madam Hailstone wasted no time disappearing with Duncan behind a curtain when they arrived at the hospital wing. They were told to wait outside while she worked. Only Professor Dumbledore was allowed to enter and later Noah, too.

When he came back out, he gave the team a shaky grin. "He'll be okay, but he'll have to stay in the hospital wing for a couple of days and take some time to recover. No practice until then." He held up a hand before anyone could start arguing. "I know. I know. Dumbledore's orders. He didn't take it very well when I asked how long we'd have to wait. Said I'd do well to remember that there are more important concerns than winning a Quidditch game."

"He's right, isn't he?" Minerva said quietly. She wished she hadn't heard the sound Duncan had made when he'd hit the ground.

"Either way, I'm not going to pick a fight with Dumbledore. I'm not mad, am I? So yeah, we wait until Duncan's all healed up," Noah nodded.

Troy tried to cheer them up by saying, "Don't worry. Madam Hailstone can fix anything. He'll be right as rain in no time."

Unfortunately, Troy's optimism wasn't quite warranted. Duncan was released from the hospital wing, yes, and he got permission to play Quidditch again just in time for their first match. They even got a couple of practices in before then. But Duncan wasn't flying the way he used to. He was trying to stay close to the ground and he kept braking way too early, if he accelerated at all, which he avoided as much as he possibly could.

"Sorry, guys," he said when they were all changing back into their school robes after practice. "I know I really suck right now."

No one had wanted to say anything, though they had all exchanged dark looks. They seemed to be in agreement, however, that making Duncan feel worse about himself was not going to help.

"No worries," said Kenny. "You know what they say. Bad practices make for good games."

"Who says that?" asked Marigold, frowning.

"No one says that, mate," Kyle agreed with her.

"Well, I do," Kenny insisted and patted Duncan on the back. Not too hard, though.

"Me, too," Troy agreed and they walked Duncan back up to the castle in a show of solidarity.

As soon as they had left the changing room, Noah sighed. "I'll have to bench him."

Shocked, Minerva turned around to glare at him. "You can't! He worked so hard to get healthy in time for the game!"

"That's great, but it won't do us any good if he doesn't get his head back in the game, too. I mean, look at him! The only way he's going to catch the Snitch is if someone uses an Impedimenta Hex on it first!"

"Maybe Kenny's got a point. Maybe he'll be better when the actual game is on the line," Minerva said, trying to sound hopeful.

Noah looked sceptical. "And what if he doesn't?"

"Then... we'll lose the game, but at least we'll do it as a team. Benching Duncan is not right," Minerva insisted. "It's what the Slytherins would do," she added for good measure.

"Fine," Noah agreed, throwing up his hands. "But I really hope you're right."

Minerva really hoped she'd be right, too.

But she wasn't.

The game was rough – as games between Gryffindor and Slytherin always were. Minerva almost got knocked off her broom when the two Slytherin Beaters singled her out and aimed both Bludgers at her at the same time from two different angles. And then later Sevazlian, one of the Slytherin Chasers, elbowed her right in the face and split open her lip. Gryffindor was awarded a penalty for it, but Minerva played the rest of the game with blood in her mouth. The rest of the Gryffindor team didn't fare much better, but they all held their ground. They were neck to neck.

And then Slytherin caught the Snitch. Duncan was nowhere near it at the time.

The Gryffindor side of the stands went very still and so did the team as they fled into the changing rooms, followed by Slytherin taunts and jeers.

Minerva was furious that she had lost her first official Quidditch game, and with her brother (who had also been sorted into Gryffindor) watching, too. She knew Junior wouldn't stop teasing her for weeks. She really should have kept her fingers crossed for him to land in Hufflepuff.

The only thing that could be done about it was to stop it from happening again. "We just need to practise more," she said. "And I mean all of us," she added when Duncan looked ready to strangle himself with his Quidditch robes. "Yes, you didn't catch the Snitch, but we didn't score enough points either." She looked at Troy and Marigold. "And you didn't save enough goals," she said in Kenny's direction. "So we're all equally at fault."

"What about us?" Kyle asked, pointing at him and Noah. When Kenny gave him a look that clearly suggested that he was stupid for asking to be criticised, Kyle shrugged. "What? I was feeling left out. If you guys suck, I want to suck, too."

And suddenly everyone was laughing again.

Noah got to work on their new training schedule. It was quite simply, really. He scheduled practice every night unless the pitch was unavailable because the other house teams, especially Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, whose game was up next, wanted to practise as well. In that case, the Gryffindors practised in the morning before breakfast instead. And never mind the weather.

Pretty soon, members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team were easily distinguishable in the corridors by looking bleary-eyed or leaving a trail of mud and rainwater all the way from the Entrance Hall to Gryffindor Tower. At least the boys did. Minerva usually tried to remember to go last and point her wand at the floor, muttering a Cleaning Spell. Sometimes she forgot, though, because as far as missing sleep was concerned, she got the worst of it. As it turned out, she was the only one on the team who took ten subjects on top of Quidditch.

She thought she was handling it, until one morning when she suddenly noticed that the Transfiguration classroom had gone completely quiet. Blinking away her drowsiness, Minerva realised that Professor Dumbledore must have asked a question and now everyone was waiting for her to raise her hand to answer it. But for once, she couldn't, because she had sort of not been listening. She wanted to feel bad about that, but then again, she couldn't be expected to do all the work in this class on her own, now could she?

After what felt like an uncomfortably long moment of confusion, Holter raised his hand and answered the question, giving a rather poor definition of Switching Spells, not worth the five points Professor Dumbledore awarded him with. Or so Minerva thought. And when Dumbledore asked them to read a chapter in _Intermediate Transfiguration,_ she dozed off again, having already read the book from cover to cover three times.

When the bell rang, Minerva would have left the room with Augusta, but her bag ripped open and scattered her books all over the floor. Heaving a sigh, she told Augusta to go ahead without her. Minerva had only just bent down to pick up the first book when her bag repaired itself and her books rose off the ground and neatly arranged themselves inside of it, which should have been impossible because, really, her bag was too small. Since Minerva now sometimes lost track of which day it was, she had begun to carry all of her books around with her all the time. They had never fit this well before.

"Er, thanks, Professor," she said as she shouldered her new bag and looked up at Professor Dumbledore, a little worried that he might be upset that she hadn't participated in class today the way she usually did.

"You're perfectly welcome," he replied cheerfully, however. "You do have a lot of books in there, though, which makes me wonder if I should really give this to you. I don't want Madam Hailstone to come after me for giving you too much to handle."

He was holding out a book that was entitled _Why Switching isn't Swindling – an in-depth look at Switching Spells and other switcheroos by Nik Abrahamian. _Dumbledore had mentioned it in class last week as an interesting and entertaining way to learn more about the subject, and since Minerva was once again ahead of the rest of the class, she had asked to borrow it.

"No, really, it's fine, Professor. It's not that heavy," Minerva said quickly. Well, it had been heavy earlier, but it wasn't now that Professor Dumbledore had repaired her bag. Either way, she wanted to read that book and she grabbed it before Dumbledore could change his mind. Of course, she would have to move some things around. She was halfway done with her Arithmancy essay, she hadn't started on her star charts for Astronomy yet, and that translation for Ancient Runes wasn't due until Friday... Or was that Wednesday?

"Are you quite all right?" Dumbledore's voice pulled her out of her reverie.

"Fine, Professor," Minerva said and only then realised that she was repeating herself. _Use a different word, Minerva,_ she thought. "I mean, yes, I'm all right, sir."

Dumbledore didn't comment on her rather uninspired answers. "Are you still enjoying your new subjects?"

"Yes, sir. I'm still very happy I didn't take Divination." Augusta was taking it and she kept trying to predict Minerva's future by reading her empty teacups. So far, Minerva was going to marry a dragon, lose an arm or possibly a leg, and become Minister for Magic.

"I thought you might be," Dumbledore nodded and smiled, but he said, "I talked to Professor Oldroyd the other day and he mentioned a particularly difficult test he'd set his new third-year students that not one of them would have passed had this been an actual exam."

Unaware that the teachers talked about her behind her back, Minerva cringed. That test in Ancient Runes had been a disaster, not because she hadn't grasped the grammar, but because she hadn't found the time to catch up on the vocabulary. That sounded like a pretty lame excuse now, though, and Minerva was generally too embarrassed to say anything.

"It is no cowardice to ask for help. One might even say it is the other way around," Dumbledore said softly.

It was meant as a kindness, Minerva knew that, but it only made her want to hide under a table. "I'm fine, Professor," she muttered. There was that word again. Apparently, it wasn't only her Ancient Runes vocabulary she needed to brush up on.

It served her well in ending this conversation, however. "Very well, I'll be letting you go then," Professor Dumbledore dismissed her quietly.

That night, Minerva studied Ancient Runes until she fell face first onto her bed and simply passed out.

* * *

There was no mistaking a Quidditch morning at Hogwarts. Even if one had gone temporarily deaf and had thus missed all the excited conversations in the corridors the week leading up to the game – students were eagerly adding up points scored, comparing broomsticks and strategies and placing bets (only if the teachers weren't looking, of course, or at least pretended not to be looking).

At breakfast in the Great Hall before the start of the match one would have to notice the signs at the latest. While there was always competition between the four houses and tensions were running high as the school year progressed, students only wore their hearts, or in this case their house colours, on their sleeves when it was time to pledge their support for their Quidditch teams. This was also the only time it was really deemed acceptable for the teachers to show their colours.

Nevertheless, it was equally unexpected and entertaining to watch Horace walk up and down the Gryffindor table in an attempt to acquire a Gryffindor scarf from one of the students. It took him a good ten minutes, but eventually he returned to the staff table victorious.

"Green no longer your colour, Horace?" Albus asked innocently as he sat back down.

"Only temporarily, Albus, so don't you bother getting used to this," Horace replied boomingly. "You see, I need Gryffindor to win today so Ravenclaw won't surpass Slytherin and take first place in the Championship, so I thought I would pledge my support."

"How very generous of you," Albus replied dryly.

Horace seemed to take his words at face value. "Right, so what's the deal with that Seeker of yours? Is he going to up his game or what? Because if he's still feeling shaky, well..." Horace lowered his voice and leaned in closer. "I have an Invigoration Draught all mixed up. Two to three drops in his pumpkin juice should do the trick."

Albus leaned back, his brows furrowed. That Gryffindor scarf suddenly looked highly offensive around Horace's neck. "Surely, you're not seriously suggesting that I should encourage my students to make use of performance-enhancing substances?"

"Oh, come off your high hippogriff, will you? It's only a mild stimulant to cheer up the poor boy," Horace argued. "We all know Gryffindors don't cheat, yada yada, but you do need a win today. If you lose two games in a row..."

"Then at least we will have done so honestly," Albus cut him off, quite ready to be done with this conversation.

"Fine, you're incorrigible, as always." Horace heaved a sigh, and funnily enough he, too, now seemed to think that the red and yellow scarf around his neck was wrong. "No, really, this won't do." He pointed his wand at it to change it back into a Slytherin scarf, but it turned blue and bronze instead.

"What? Merlin's Beard, not Ravenclaw colours!" Horace cursed and tried to change it back to its original crimson. The result was a rather bright magenta.

"Very lovely," Albus commented, munching on his grilled tomatoes. "I think you might have found your colour, Horace."

The Slytherin Head of House narrowed his eyes at him. "You did this! I may not be Head of the Transfiguration department, but I can turn a bloody red scarf into a green one! It's never turned blue before!"

Albus gave a little shrug. "Ah, well, you never know with these types of spells. They can be very temperamental, especially on a morning such as this. Can't you feel the energy in the castle walls?"

Horace huffed and refused to answer. He also refused to sit next to Albus in the stands, so he sat next to Cyrille instead, and yes, perhaps he was trying to prove a point. Quidditch was, after all, still only a game. There was no reason whatsoever to stop being civil. Of course, seeing as Cyrille was dressed from head to toe in blue and bronze, Albus hoped he wouldn't come to regret that choice at the end of the match.

The two Heads of House didn't have time to talk much, anyway, since the game started off very fast and it never slowed down once because there were hardly any fouls or penalties. When Gryffindor and Ravenclaw met on the Quidditch pitch, it was usually one of the cleaner games. Albus enjoyed watching it a lot more that way. Both teams were strong on offense, which meant that all eyes were on the Quaffle that sometimes changed hands so fast it was nothing but a red blur.

It was quickly becoming apparent, however, that the Ravenclaw Chasers were outmatched, not only when it came to speed and accuracy, but also, and perhaps more importantly, when it came to determination and endurance, or so Albus thought in his, admittedly, slightly biased opinion.

The Gryffindor trio was playing as though they were of only one mind. Passing the Quaffle between the three of them, picking it up whenever a teammate was forced to drop it because of a well-aimed Bludger, and blocking opposing players to clear the path to the goalposts. McGonagall in particular was all over the field today, scoring twice as many points as Appleby and Forrester, Albus did not fail to notice.

It was 60 to 30. Then 140 to 60. Gryffindor was not only pulling ahead but getting away from Ravenclaw, and still they showed no sign of slowing down. It was 180. 200. And finally, 230 to 80. By now, Albus thought he knew what the Gryffindor team was doing and why they kept playing as if someone had set their brooms on fire. Other people in the stadium had clearly done the math, too, and it was now that tensions were highest that the Golden Snitch was spotted. Albus had long since suspected that it was really a bit of a drama queen, only showing itself when it stood to gain the most attention.

If Ravenclaw caught the Snitch now, the game would be tied, which, considering that Gryffindor had played lights out for close to an hour, would be an absolute steal for Ravenclaw and a major disappointment for Gryffindor. Naturally, all eyes were on the two Seekers who were diving for the Snitch now.

All eyes, except for Albus' that was. He had never much liked the sensationalist nature of ending games like this. After all, it wasn't as if the remaining twelve players had simply stopped in mid-air. Gryffindor was still playing. Forrester had the Quaffle. One of the Ravenclaw Beaters sent a Bludger his way, rather annoyed that they wouldn't stop coming. And so Forrester was forced to pass the Quaffle to Appleby, and Gryffindor captain Royston defended her by sending the Bludger right back where it had come from. Appleby suddenly had the chance to score one last time.

But the second Ravenclaw Beater hit another Bludger with all his might. His aim didn't have to be perfect, he just needed to delay Appleby's approach towards the goalposts, and it looked as if his Bludger would do just that. But then McGonagall flew right into its path, nearly doubling over from the impact and barely hanging on to her broom. Appleby was free to throw.

Madam Hooch's whistle blew. Dale, the Ravenclaw Seeker, had caught the Snitch and punched his fist into the air. The Ravenclaws cheered mightily. Until they noticed the scoreboard. It said 240 to 230 for Gryffindor. Appleby had scored while everyone had watched Dale grab hold of the Snitch.

All hell broke loose as the scoreboard filled the stadium with a lion's roar and the Gryffindors followed suit with a mad clapping and screaming of their own. There were red and golden colours everywhere.

Cyrille looked understandably miffed, but she turned around to shake his hand. "Well, congratulations, Albus. That was quite the performance. But I guess your team did have something to prove, didn't they?" She winced when the scoreboard roared again. "Oh, is that really necessary? Since when does it do that?"

Albus didn't say anything and accepted her handshake with a smile.

After a highly contested game like that, the school always needed some time to quiet down again. Since it just so happened that his first lesson on Monday morning would be with the Gryffindor third-years, who were still practising Switching Spells, Albus decided to let them have their fun. He would give them a set of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw banners and have them switch the two, which would most certainly result in a number of entertaining mix-ups.

When he let them enter the classroom, he quickly noticed, however, that Minerva McGonagall was missing. For a moment, Albus worried that she might have sustained a more serious injury in her heroic last-minute collision with that Bludger. He hadn't been informed of any such injury by Madam Hailstone, however, and since he had seen Miss McGonagall celebrate their victory with the rest of the Gryffindors, it seemed rather unlikely that her absence was health-related. And so he started his lesson.

Fifteen minutes in, the door to the classroom was hastily pushed open and his missing student appeared, clutching her side.

"Class started fifteen minutes ago, Miss McGonagall," Albus informed her, looking up from Mr. Furlong's Gryffindor banner. He had turned the lion in its centre into a griffin.

"Sorry... Professor... overslept..." Miss McGonagall said, both very direct and very much out of breath.

Albus sighed. He had rather hoped that his classes were more important to her than Quidditch. Then again, he also knew how easy it was to forget what it was like to be young. "Please leave your homework on my desk and sit down then," he said, turning his attention back to Mr. Furlong.

Out the corner of his eye, Albus noticed, however, that Miss McGonagall had stopped dead on her way to her seat. When Albus looked at her again, he saw that her eyes were glued to the scrolls of parchment that he had collected from her classmates at the beginning of the lesson.

"I... uh... don't have my homework, sir," she confessed. "With Quidditch and everything, I..."

"You forgot?" Albus guessed.

"Ah, not exactly, I just thought..."

"You thought it wasn't important?" Albus once again finished her sentence. He admired her honesty, but that was about the only good thing he could say for her right now.

Miss McGonagall winced, uncomfortably aware that everyone was staring at them, but that was hardly his fault. "Well, no, I just didn't have enough time, and you know I know the difference between Switching Spells and Transformation Spells, Professor. I wrote about that in the very first essay you ever told me to write, so I thought you wouldn't mind if I focused on Quidditch instead."

After all the noise that had filled the castle this past weekend, the room was now almost unnaturally quiet. The class seemed to be holding its collective breath, waiting to see what he would do or say, as if this was almost as exciting as watching a Quidditch match. In truth, Albus felt nothing but tired. Tired of always either rising above or failing to fulfil people's expectations. No one ever seemed to care if people had met _his _expectations.

"I see," he said eventually. "Well, then I hope you also know how to find your seat and ask Miss Longbottom if she'll be kind enough to fill you in on what we're doing today. Oh, and I suppose that will be twenty points from Gryffindor."

Once again, Miss McGonagall froze on her way to her seat. "But you've never taken off points for forgetting homework before!" she said rather bluntly.

"Ah, but you didn't forget. You assumed I wouldn't mind and, I'm sorry to say, you assumed wrong," Albus told her, fully aware that this was really about the fact that he had never taken points from her before.

Clearly, he should have, because now her eyes were ablaze with fury. Albus had often marvelled how quickly teenagers could turn back into petulant little children. "But I had already done a homework like that! Really, you're punishing me for being better than the rest of the class!"

There was some truth to her words. But it wasn't the right kind of truth. And it was rather disappointing that she was too wrapped up in her own accomplishments to understand that. "I don't see how I could possibly punish you for something you're not," he thus told her outright. "A witch's or wizard's greatest weakness will never be a lack of skill but a lack of humility."

Whether it was his words or his tone, this marked the end of their unpleasant little exchange. It also marked the end of any fun Albus had thought his students might have in this particular lesson.


	10. The Ministry's Call

**10\. The Ministry's Call**

Lost in a book about Numerology, which she was reading for some additional Arithmancy homework and which disgusted and fascinated her at the same time, Minerva almost walked straight into a suit of armour on her way to Transfiguration. She corrected her course just in time, but she was still so distracted that it took her a while to notice that her classmates weren't waiting outside the classroom, talking amongst themselves, as they usually did.

They were all gathered around an adult wizard Minerva had never seen in the castle before. He definitely wasn't a teacher, and he didn't look like anyone's parent either. As those were the only two options Minerva could think of when it came to people who were allowed to enter the castle, she immediately got a sense of foreboding.

None of her classmates looked particularly alarmed. Still, Minerva hurried to get closer and find out what was going on.

"So we all know he's a great wizard, of course, but what else is there?" The adult wizard was asking now. "What's it like to be taught by him? Is it scary sometimes?"

"Not really," Augusta answered him, shaking her head.

"Unless he gets angry," Drew argued.

"He rarely ever does, though," Duncan pointed out.

"Yeah, but when he does..." Drew broke off with a shiver.

That was when the strange wizard jumped back in. "What then? What does he do?"

"Er..." said Drew, looking uncertain.

Holter shrugged. "Nothing, really."

"Well, he always looks very disappointed," Alison added.

Whoever they were talking to looked rather disappointed at that, too. "Okay, but what is he teaching you? Spells of his own invention, perhaps? Anything dangerous?"

"Do you remember when we worked with that porcupine and it blasted everyone with its quills because Chase had poked it in the eye?" Holter started laughing.

Chase didn't get a chance to defend himself because the wizard asked eagerly, "Did you get badly hurt?"

Holter stopped laughing. "Er, no. Dumbledore turned the quills into feathers. It tickled a lot, though."

Clearly, that hadn't been the answer this man was looking for.

Augusta now noticed that Minerva had joined them and said, "But you should talk to Minerva. She's his favourite student."

"You are?" Looking excited again, the wizard had turned around to her. "And why is that?"

Rather than answer that, Minerva asked, "Who are you?"

"I'm Greg. Greg Burnside. And what's your full name?"

Now Minerva saw the quill that seemed to be taking notes of everything that was being said, and she put two and two together. "You're from the _Daily Prophet!"_

"That I am, and you have the once in a lifetime opportunity to tell our readers what it's like to be around Albus Dumbledore every day!"

Minerva glanced up and down the corridor to see if anyone else had noticed this man. She couldn't fathom how he had just walked in here. He wasn't dangerous, of course, and he worked for a respectable newspaper. But she didn't like the way he phrased his questions. It felt off to her somehow.

"I don't think you're supposed to be here," she said sceptically.

"Don't worry. Your teacher let me in," Burnside waved off her concerns. "So how...?"

"Which teacher?" Minerva interrupted him. She could tell that he was beginning to get annoyed with her, though he tried to hide it.

"I see Dumbledore is teaching you to ask a lot of questions. As you should, of course. Perhaps you'd make a fine investigator, too, one day. I'm sure I could arrange a little visit to the paper if you're interested."

Minerva frowned. "Are you trying to bribe me?"

"Galloping Gargoyles! You're not very trusting, are you?" Burnside eyed her more shrewdly now. "Which is very smart. Always double-check your sources, that's what I always say. So yes, very clever, which, of course, I suppose you must be if you're Dumbledore's favourite. Though you're wrong in this case. I was merely offering some guidance, help out a keen, investigative mind like yours."

"I thought you were a reporter, not an investigator."

Burnside grinned. "Ah, but that's rather a small distinction, isn't it? Especially in a case like this. The people deserve to know more about their next Minister for Magic!"

"What?" Minerva almost dropped her book in shock.

"You haven't heard yet?" Burnside asked lightly, but his eyes were watching her closely. "Dumbledore's been officially offered the position, as we all knew he would be eventually, of course. But now that he'll be deciding all of our futures, shouldn't we ask ourselves: who is this man, really? And what does he want? But perhaps you know?"

"Know what?"

"What Dumbledore wants."

"I always thought he just wanted to teach," Minerva replied hesitantly. This news had unsettled her more than she'd thought it would.

Burnside shook his head and laughed as if he pitied her for being so naïve. "But that was never going to last, was it? A man of his calibre? Who couldn't even use his powers to punish any of you?"

"He did lock up those Ravenclaws in the dungeon once in our first year," Chase tried to get back into the conversation. He probably didn't only want to be known as the boy who had set off the porcupine.

"Did he now?" Burnside was more than willing to listen.

"No, he didn't! That was just a stupid rumour!" Minerva snapped.

"But you did say that he sort of pinned those boys up in the air to stop them from attacking you," Augusta remembered, though she looked apologetic when Minerva glared at her.

"That didn't hurt them! It just..."

"Humiliated them?" Burnside suggested. "Frightened them? Traumatised them?"

She hadn't been sure what to think, but now Minerva was certain that Burnside wasn't here to write an unbiased article. "You're trying to discredit Professor Dumbledore!" she accused him.

"Well, think about it, girl. We don't really need another article on how Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald, except no one seems to know how exactly he did that, now do we?"

"But he did defeat Grindelwald!" Minerva shot back angrily.

"Eventually, yes."

She realised Burnside just wanted to keep her talking and still she asked, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Took him long enough, did it not?" Burnside sneered. "If he really is the greatest wizard that ever lived since Merlin, shouldn't he have stopped it all before people died?"

Minerva had no answer for him. But no matter what Professor Dumbledore had done and at what time, the likes of Burnside had no right to question it.

Only, he wouldn't shut up. "Shouldn't he have stopped hiding behind these walls the minute it became clear to everyone that Grindelwald was a madman whose power could only lead to death and damnation if left unchecked?"

"Professor Dumbledore doesn't hide!" Minerva hissed.

"No? Then what is he doing here in this unplottable old castle, miles and miles away from any other wizard who would be a match for him?"

"There is no greater wizard than Professor Dumbledore! And there never will be unless he teaches them!"

Burnside shook his head at her as if this was a marvellous joke when in fact Minerva had never believed in anything more than that.

"Listen to yourself. If he is so powerful, and I'm not saying he isn't, mind you, but if he truly fought a duel so legendary, so filled with advanced magic that eyewitnesses couldn't even name half of the spells that were used, then do you honestly think that this could have ever been his first choice?" Burnside pointed at the old castle walls, the dented suits of armour and at them. "Do you think this could have ever been enough? Do you think you're that important to him?"

Until this very moment, Minerva had thought that being a reporter was a respectable job, not as important as governing, teaching or healing, of course, but still vital to keep everyone informed about what was going on. But Burnside's words were so venomous and misleading, she decided not to listen to any of it for a second longer.

"Professor Dumbledore is the best teacher this school has ever seen and he is ten times the man you are!" she said, thinking that this was the only quote on Dumbledore she would ever give.

Rather than look intimidated or impressed in any way, Burnside got a wicked gleam in his eyes. "Really? How close are you and Dumbledore exactly?"

Suddenly terrified, Minerva glanced at the quill that was still recording everything that was being said. She hadn't realised that in the hands of a man like Burnside, all of her words could end up hurting Professor Dumbledore, if misconstrued and taken out of context. So she thought it best not to say anything anymore and tried to walk away from him and this conversation.

Burnside quickly stepped to the right to block her path. "Run out of things to say, have you?"

"Get out of my way!"

"So you can hide just like your hero Dumbledore?"

Her anger flaring, Minerva pulled out her wand and pointed it at Burnside's hat, turning it into the fattest, most giant rat she could think of (and even that didn't do him justice).

With a horrified yelp, Burnside tried to sling the rat away from him, which caused Minerva's classmates to scream and jump out of the way, and for a moment, everyone was screaming as the rat scurried away.

"What in the name of Merlin is going on here?"

Professor Slughorn strode purposefully towards them, though he gave the rat a wide berth, and he was quickly followed by... Professor Dumbledore.

Minerva was tempted to yell a warning, but she caught herself just in time, as that would have been extremely stupid. If anyone was in danger now, it was Burnside, because the lines on Professor Dumbledore's face could have just as well been set in stone.

It was Slughorn who reached them first. "Greg, what are you doing here? I told you I would go and get Dumbledore for you! I told you to wait for me in the Entrance Hall!"

Somehow Minerva wasn't surprised that Slughorn was the one who had let Burnside into the castle. She was willing to bet that he had been in Slytherin once, too.

"And I did wait. I just happened to meet this fine group of Gryffindors who were nice enough to answer a few questions for me," Burnside replied with a horribly fake smile.

"Is that how the _Daily Prophet_ reports the news these days? By accosting underage witches and wizards without their parents' consent?" Dumbledore had caught up with them now and his voice couldn't have been colder if someone had cast a Freezing Spell.

"We were just talking, Dumbledore!" Burnside replied, trying to laugh it off.

Professor Dumbledore was not laughing, however. He wasn't even smiling. "In that case, I shall thank you not to speak to my students again and to vacate the premises as unsolicited as you've entered them."

Burnside's smile froze. "Of course, I'll leave the children to their studying, though I don't think that teaching them to turn hats into rats qualifies as an essential life lesson. But either way, I was promised an interview with you, Dumbledore."

"I have not made any such promises."

Clearly annoyed now, Burnside looked from Dumbledore to Slughorn, who reddened. "Ah, yes, well, turns out today doesn't work for us after all. I'm terribly sorry, Greg. Perhaps another time?"

"I don't think so, no," Dumbledore said icily.

Burnside was brave or stupid enough to take a step closer to Dumbledore. "You cannot hide from the press forever, Dumbledore. Certainly not if you fancy yourself sitting in that office in London soon."

"I am standing right here, I believe, and I would certainly invite you to sling your cleverly veiled insults at me, but I am late for my next class. And as I am not inclined to take points from my own house, I would very much like to start my lesson now," Dumbledore replied.

"Fine," huffed Burnside, stuffing away his quill and rolling up his parchment. "I'm leaving."

Dumbledore held out a hand. "I'll be taking that then."

Burnside's eyes darted from Dumbledore's hand to his scroll of parchment that had everything on it that had been said here. "Oh no! You don't have to talk to me, Dumbledore, but you can't take that. You're not Minister just yet. You can't take my personal property."

"Within the walls of this school, I can confiscate anything that poses a danger to my students. And since you've recorded them without asking for their consent, if we were to pretend for a moment that it was up to them to give it, this scroll most definitely qualifies," Dumbledore explained quite patiently as it seemed.

But when Burnside hesitated, his hand even inching closer to his pocket where he must have stashed his wand, Professor Dumbledore's eyes flashed in warning. "I would strongly advise you not to test my resolve, Gregory."

"Threats, Dumbledore?" Burnside sneered, curling his hand into a fist, probably to hide that it was shaking, and rightly so. "That's not very becoming of the next Minister for Magic."

"Perhaps. But as a teacher, you leave me with no other choice if you insist on harassing my students."

Snorting derisively and gritting his teeth, Burnside handed over his scroll and stormed off.

"Horace, if you please," Professor Dumbledore said quietly and Slughorn nodded and followed Burnside. Probably to make sure he was really leaving.

In the meantime, Dumbledore pocketed the scroll of parchment. Minerva followed it anxiously with her eyes. She could only hope that he would never read it.

For now he opened the Transfiguration classroom and they all filed inside. But they were way too upset about what had just happened to quiet down.

"We didn't tell him anything bad about you, Professor!" Holter said loudly.

"Yes, we told him that we love having you as a teacher," Alison nodded.

"But also that you'll be a great Minister for Magic!" Duncan added.

"The best!" Drew agreed.

Professor Dumbledore surveyed them with a smile, but he raised a hand to put an end to these proclamations. "That is very kind of all of you, but please settle down now. We have already lost enough of the precious time we have together, so I would like to return to more important matters."

They exchanged curious glances, having a lot more questions, but not daring to ask them when Dumbledore had made it clear that now was not the time. When the bell rang to signal the end of the lesson, he let them go without homework, and Minerva was halfway to the door before Professor Dumbledore stopped her in her tracks.

"Miss McGonagall, a word, please?"

Minerva sighed and nodded to Augusta to go ahead. When everyone else had left, she turned around to face her teacher. "I'm sorry about the rat, Professor," she said right away. "I just wanted him to leave me alone. He was so horrible…"

"Rat?" Professor Dumbledore's forehead creased. "The only rat I saw will have been accompanied off the castle grounds by Professor Slughorn by now."

Surprised, Minerva met his gaze.

"I'm not looking for an apology from you," Dumbledore explained. "On the contrary, I believe I owe you an apology since Gregory Burnside only bothered you on my behalf."

"Er, that's okay," Minerva said hesitantly.

She still felt terribly awkward after their recent row in class. As soon as she had come to her senses again that day, she had sat down to do that stupid homework she should have done in the first place. Except, she had made it twelve feet long rather than the two and a half Professor Dumbledore had asked for. That hadn't been an easy feat since it had been a fairly simple and straightforward essay question, but Minerva had made it work by borrowing every book she could find on the subject. Dumbledore had accepted her essay (and the gesture she had hoped to make with it), and he hadn't mentioned the whole thing since then.

Minerva wasn't sure if that meant that she was forgiven or if Professor Dumbledore was simply too gracious to hold a grudge. Either way, it made it impossible for her to understand men like Burnside.

"But, um, why does he hate you so much, sir?"

"Oh, he doesn't hate me," Dumbledore replied. "He's just doing his job since he believes that finding dirt on me will make his career."

"He won't find anything!" Minerva said stubbornly.

There was a soft smile on Dumbledore's lips, but it didn't reach his eyes when he said, "Well, if he doesn't, I'm sure he'll simply drag up my poor father again."

Minerva stared at her Head of House, who had never uttered a single word about his family before or mentioned anything else that was of a more personal nature, other than perhaps his favourite food. "Your father? Sir?"

Professor Dumbledore heaved a sigh. "My father died in Azkaban."

Shocked, Minerva almost dropped her bag. She would have been more inclined to believe that Professor Dumbledore's father had toured the land with a bunch of singing Bowtruckles, dancing the Charleston. But she supposed there was no reason for Dumbledore to lie about his father having been a criminal.

"What… what did he do?" she asked when she had found her voice again.

"He attacked three Muggles. The incident was well publicised at the time, but it's been a good fifty years, and this Minister for Magic business will certainly be an opportune moment to bring it up again." Dumbledore had looked thoughtful, but now he focused on her again. "I'm only telling you this because I do not want you to think that anything they'll be writing about me in the _Daily Prophet_ in the next couple of days is in any way your fault."

"But it's not your fault either!" Minerva said quickly. "I mean, you can't be held responsible for what your father did. Duncan's right. You will be the best Minister for Magic we ever had!"

There was a short pause.

"I must say I am quite overwhelmed by the outpouring of support you and your classmates have shown me today," Dumbledore then said, his eyes bright.

Minerva really wanted to leave it at that, but she couldn't. "Except, I don't really want you to become Minister for Magic," she confessed.

"Oh?" said Dumbledore, raising an eyebrow.

"I know that's selfish, and I shouldn't even be in Gryffindor saying that, but I've been doing lots of stupid things lately anyway. I'm going to fix that, though. I want to be the best witch I can be. But I'll need you to teach me."

Professor Dumbledore practically x-rayed her with his piercing blue eyes. "Well," he said slowly, "as it turns out, rumours of my becoming the next Minister for Magic are greatly exaggerated."

"They are?" Minerva asked confused and barely daring to hope. "Did they not offer you the position?"

"Oh, they did," Dumbledore confirmed cheerfully. "And I politely declined, or so I hope. So you see, you won't get rid of me that easily."

"But why? I mean, why did you turn it down?" Minerva asked. She was relieved, of course, but she couldn't fathom saying no to the Ministry. She was so impressed that she only noticed belatedly that this was a rather personal question to ask.

Professor Dumbledore didn't seem offended, however. "Well, all things being equal, I don't think I will ever find a prettier view than the one from my office window here at Hogwarts. Especially with the Ministry being underground."

Minerva couldn't help but laugh. "That's not a real answer, Professor."

Dumbledore's eyes sparkled. "Perhaps. But since we just established that I will continue to serve as your Head of House and Transfiguration professor, it is the only answer I can give you today."

"That's okay, Professor," Minerva decided. "I'd much rather keep you as a teacher than have an answer."

"I am oh so glad to hear that."


	11. Questions

**11\. Questions**

"Another fantastic dinner, Perenelle. Thank you again for having me."

"Oh, will you stop with that? You know you're always welcome here, Albus." Perenelle Flamel gave him a warm smile before she rose from the table and directed the empty dishes back into the kitchen with her wand.

"She's serious, you know, old friend. If you hadn't asked to visit us this summer, she would have made me swim across the Channel to come and get you," Nicholas said, leaning back in his chair.

Albus quirked an eyebrow. "I'm afraid I'm not sure if I should feel touched or offended that you consider me an _old_ friend."

Nicholas laughed. "Well, I don't look a day over five hundred. You on the other hand…"

"Ah, you see, we don't all drink the Elixir of Life for breakfast," Albus replied.

"No, we certainly don't, but _you_ could," Nicholas said pointedly.

"No," Albus said and stood to leave the dining room, stepping out into the garden of the Flamel's house. He generally preferred the moderate Scottish summers, but the light and warmth of the French sun did make for a nice change at the moment.

Nicholas followed him outside and offered him a crystal goblet filled with a swirling dark red liquid. "It's just wine. I promise," he said. "And a very special vintage at that. For special guests."

Albus thanked him and took a sip. The French definitely did know their wines.

"So, how have you been doing?" Nicholas asked, sipping his own wine and surveying his garden.

"Honestly, Nicholas, would you like Madam Hailstone to send you a note to confirm that I am in excellent health?" Albus asked, amused.

"No, I just mean because they've been writing a lot about you in the papers again. Even in ours," Nicholas explained.

"Ah, yes, I saw my picture next to an article about regurgitating toilets. A rather unfortunate combination. Then again, it looked like a fascinating article. The one about the toilets, I mean."

"I hear you. You don't care what they write about you, but since it doesn't concern you and they will do it one way or another, perhaps you should have just taken the job?"

Albus suppressed a sigh. "Et tu, Brute?"

"Don't go all Julius Caesar on me, Albus," Nicholas defended himself. "As your oldest friend – by a wide margin, I might add – I have a right to inquire about your reasoning."

"As my oldest friend, I hoped I didn't have to explain it to you," Albus countered.

"I know you don't particularly like your ministry and the way it operates. And I understand you don't want to be forced into a role where you can only either be their saviour or their worst failure," Nicholas said thoughtfully. "But I also know that that head of yours is filled with loads of brilliant ideas. Things you would like to change, and now they've asked you to do just that."

Albus snorted. "They don't want me in that office to have me change things but to have me tamed."

"I would like to see them try," Nicholas said grimly. "Granted, some of your previous ministers were idiots. That Hector Fawley especially, who thought Grindelwald's great revolution was nothing but a joke." He shook his head and thus did not notice Albus' involuntary tremor at being reminded of Grindelwald's revolutionary ideas. _His_ ideas.

"That Spencer-Moon was all right, I suppose. But dealt a difficult hand, obviously," Nicholas continued, oblivious to Albus' inner demons. "Now, though, now seems to be the time to do some actual governing, does it not?"

"There are other ways to advocate for change. In the meantime, I'm sure Wilhelmina will do just fine," Albus said, and he really did think that she was one of the better candidates for the job. He remembered her from her time at school and she had sent him an owl asking if he was quite certain that he didn't want the job, otherwise refusing to take it, which had been a nice, if unnecessary, gesture.

"Be that as it may, she's not you, is she?" Nicholas set down his goblet to face him fully. "I just have a hard time believing that it's really the pettiness of politics that's holding you back. I know you're not a political animal, but we both know you'd find a way to overcome that, to make it your own, and you'd be a great leader."

Albus looked from the scrutinizing eyes of his friend to the peacefully blossoming garden. "Sometimes, my dear Nicholas, even great leaders do terrible things for what they believe to be the right reasons." Or, a nasty voice echoed in his head, _For the Greater Good._ "And so there is a fine line between being great and being _terrifyingly _so."

Nicholas gaped at him, clearly not having expected that answer. "You don't think you would…?"

"Haven't you been reading the papers, Nicholas? I'm the most powerful wizard alive. Who would stop me?" He asked it plainly, with no emotion in his voice, and yet he thought the air had turned a little colder.

And Nicholas, too, had fallen silent. Albus wondered if he had grasped the terrible truth of his words and was afraid…

But then he said, quite insistently, "You would! You would stop yourself. With that in there." He pointed at Albus' chest.

"My heart?" Albus said, sighing softly. "Ah, my poor, battered heart."

"Battered or not, it holds more kindness and love, even for complete strangers, than I've ever known anyone to have. Perhaps all you need is to get some in return." Nicholas snapped his fingers. "You know, there's a pub in town that draws a respectable crowd. Some very nice French lads and ladies…"

"Oh dear," Albus laughed. "I think I liked it better when you tried to talk me into becoming Minister for Magic."

Nicholas rested a hand on his shoulder. "Perenelle and I just don't want you to sit up in that castle all alone with only a bird for company."

"No one will ever be truly alone at Hogwarts, unless they choose to be," Albus told him.

"Well, then what do you choose?" Nicholas asked.

Albus watched a bumblebee land on a particularly colourful flower to gather nectar, busy performing such a simple task in its simple life. "I think… I will ask Perenelle if she'll save me a slice of that lemon pie for a late-night supper," he said and headed back inside the house.

"That pie won't love you back, Albus!" Nicholas hollered after him, making the bumblebee hastily take flight again.

* * *

"_A few short weeks after taking office, Wilhelmina Tuft announced yesterday evening that Albus Dumbledore has been named Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. To some this will come as a surprise after Dumbledore's steadfast refusal to accept the position as Minister for Magic, but the witches and wizards of the Wizengamot have responded to Dumbledore's appointment with overwhelming approval and collective cheers. _

"_Albus Dumbledore has done nothing but serve the British wizarding community with outstanding bravery and distinction. I couldn't be happier that a man of such great integrity will now help to uphold our laws," said Tuft during her announcement. _

_Of course, Tuft was only named Minister for Magic after Dumbledore refused the nomination and pledged his support to her campaign, which immediately gave rise to certain speculations that Dumbledore's appointment to Chief Warlock might have been some kind of quid pro quo. Tuft refused to comment…"_

"Of course she refused to comment on a bloody stupid rumour like that," Minerva muttered, pushing the paper away from her in disgust.

"Darling, who are you talking to?"

Minerva, who was lying on her stomach in the field behind the manse, looked up at her mother who was carrying a pitcher with fresh lemonade. "The _Daily Prophet,"_ she replied and added a "Thanks" when her mother handed her a glass.

"Yah? Which one?" Isobel asked, taking in the old newspapers that were piled up around her daughter. "What do you want with all of these?"

"I borrowed them from the library for the holidays to do some research on… uh… Grindelwald," Minerva told her.

Her mother gave her a sharp knowing look. "Grindelwald or Professor Dumbledore?"

Minerva blushed. "They've been writing so much rubbish about him. I was just hoping to find some useful information."

"And you didn't think to ask him?"

"He doesn't like questions about Grindelwald," Minerva said.

"Then maybe he doesn't want you to know," her mother pointed out.

Minerva shrugged. "It just feels like no one really knows him. Like it's all a big secret he has to keep. It must be hard."

Her mother looked at her curiously. "You and your father are like two peas in a pod. Sometimes people keep things to themselves not because they have to but because they choose to. And sometimes it's just nothing that concerns nosy little soon-to-be fourth-year students."

Pretending to have her mouth full with lemonade, Minerva didn't respond.

"Even if you were to find something in these old papers, would it change anything about you wanting him to teach you?"

Now Minerva did swallow a huge gulp of lemonade so she could say quickly, "Of course not!"

"Then why don't you stick to your school's motto and let sleeping dragons lie?" her mother suggested with a smile.

When she was alone again, Minerva pulled out a piece of parchment from underneath the pile of newspapers. It was a letter to Professor Dumbledore she had started to write, congratulating him on his appointment to Chief Warlock, but it wasn't finished. She had remembered something Dumbledore had told her once about teachers being on holiday, too, and realised that he probably didn't want to get any letters from students.

She also knew that her mother had a point. Nothing she would find in these papers about Grindelwald would change anything. Just as learning that Professor Dumbledore's father had been in Azkaban hadn't changed anything, even though it had shocked her greatly.

Minerva had been taught by Dumbledore for the past three years. But she was only now beginning to understand what a uniquely powerful wizard he truly was. At the same time, she had never been more curious what else there was to know about him.

Had he ever dreamed of doing something else besides teaching? Clearly not becoming Minister for Magic. But what had he done after graduating from Hogwarts? Or had he been asked to stay right away since he had probably been more talented than most of the teachers already. Minerva wondered what that must have been like for him. She was very happy with having aced her end-of-term exams once more, especially after she had struggled for a while, trying to find the right balance between studying and Quidditch. But being the best in your year could be lonely, too.

And where had Professor Dumbledore gotten it all from, if not from his father? Though having been a criminal of course didn't mean that he couldn't have also been a powerful wizard. But Minerva hoped that Dumbledore had some other family left. Had he ever married? Did he have children? The latter seemed unlikely, though for a minute or two Minerva entertained herself by picturing Dumbledore to have seven children who went to seven different wizarding schools and would eventually return to make the world a better place.

Clearly, she had been out in the sun for too long.

And she also began to suspect that she wouldn't find any answers out here.


	12. Pumpkin Kisses

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who has favourited, followed or reviewed this story so far. It's very much appreciated and I'm happy to know that there are at least some people still interested in Albus and Minerva.**

* * *

**12\. Pumpkin Kisses**

"Minerva, wake up! Come on! Hurry up!"

Groaning, Minerva tried to swat away the hand that was roughly shaking her shoulder. "What? What's going on?" she muttered, blinking up at the blurry outlines of Augusta's face.

"I'm going to duel Holter and I need you to be my second!"

"Uh-huh. Good luck with that," Minerva mumbled and shifted onto her other side.

But Augusta pulled her back around. "No! I'm not kidding, Minerva. Get your butt out of this bed!"

Finally truly shaken awake, Minerva sat up and reached for her glasses. It was still dark in the dormitory, but at least she could see Augusta more clearly now. "What in the name of Merlin are you going on about?"

"Shh! I'll explain outside," Augusta said, glancing at the other two beds where Alison and Drew were still sleeping. Minerva envied them.

"Outside where?"

"We're meeting Holter up on the Astronomy Tower."

Minerva's eyes widened. "Are you mental? It's the middle of the night. We're not allowed outside of Gryffindor Tower. You'd get in serious trouble for that!"

"Only if we get caught," Augusta argued.

"Famous last words of anyone who ever lost their house points," Minerva countered.

"Whatever. I'm going and I need you. So you can either follow the rules or be my friend!"

Minerva huffed. "Why can't I do both?"

"You're the smart one. Figure it out," Augusta said and walked out of the dormitory.

Minerva so didn't want to follow her, but the thought of letting Augusta roam the castle at night on her own was quite possibly worse. So she quickly pulled her robes over her head, ran a couple of fingers through her messy, black hair and ran after her friend.

"I knew you'd come," she said as she pushed open the portrait hole.

"Oi! Where do you think you're going?" The Fat Lady called after them.

"Sorry. Wizard's duel. Can't be late!" Augusta called back over her shoulder.

Debating with herself whether it was too dangerous to draw attention to themselves by lighting up her wand, Minerva eventually decided that the risk of running into a suit of armour or a trick step was worse and muttered, "Lumos!"

"Good thinking," Augusta nodded and followed her lead.

"Speaking of which, what are you thinking? Why are you duelling Holter?" Minerva whispered. "He's one of us!"

Augusta grinned. "So if I were to duel someone from Slytherin, you'd be on board? Because I'm sure that can be arranged."

"No! I mean, maybe. I just don't get it."

"He said that the Chudley Cannons were nothing but a team of losers!" Augusta explained.

"Who?"

"Holter!"

"You're kidding!"

"I know, right? The nerve! Sure, they haven't won the League since 1892, but they've had a lot of bad luck, injured players and then their Keeper wasn't right in the head, jumping off his broom, thinking he could fly like a duck…" Augusta paused when she noticed that Minerva was no longer walking next to her and had stopped a few feet back. "What?"

"You're telling me that we're breaking a dozen school rules because Holter insulted your Quidditch team?"

"Don't give me that look! You're the one who told Dumbledore – to his face – that playing Quidditch was more important than doing his homework!" Augusta reminded her and kept walking.

Her face red and with no other choice since standing still in this dark corridor was a great way to get caught, Minerva followed her. "Playing Quidditch to win points for Gryffindor," she defended her actions from last year, even though they were quite indefensible. "There's a difference."

"Well, not all of us can play Quidditch for Gryffindor, so we have to cheer for different teams," Augusta said.

"Why do you even care what Holter thinks about the Cannons then?"

"I just do. I can't stand seeing him with that stupid Tutshill Tornados scarf! He only likes them because they are all the rage right now. I know he was a Ballycastle Bats fan before. And a turncoat like that has no right to call the Cannons losers..."

"But they are!"

Augusta glared at her.

"I'm sorry, but they are last in the League right now, so objectively speaking that makes them losers."

"I'll pretend you didn't say that because you're my friend and my only se..."

"Augusta, shut up!" Minerva cut across her when she heard footsteps approach from around the corner.

They were currently standing in the middle of a corridor that offered no doors or other means of escape. In her panic, Minerva grabbed Augusta, pushed her up against the wall next to a very tall suit of armour and knocked her over the head with her wand, watching Augusta become the exact colour of the brick wall behind her. Then Minerva did the same thing to herself and barely dared to breathe, standing stock-still next to her friend.

With their hearts in their throats, they watched as Apollyon Pringle, the caretaker, entered their corridor and walked right past them, clearly in one of his foul moods but thankfully not looking left or right. Even after he was gone and his footsteps had stopped echoing through the halls, Minerva and Augusta didn't move for a while.

Eventually, Minerva lifted her spell and stepped away from the wall. "What was that?" asked Augusta as she followed suit.

"Disillusionment Charm," Minerva told her.

Augusta's eyes were bright in the dark. "You're bloody brilliant, you know that?"

"Er, thanks," Minerva said, not very happy with the circumstances in which she had been given this compliment. But she was happy with how that charm had turned out. She hadn't actually tried it before. Still, they had gotten lucky and their luck could run out at any moment. "Let's go now."

They made it to the top of the Astronomy Tower without being seen, but there was no one there.

"Are you sure he wasn't just messing with you?" Minerva asked. Of course, it would have been silly to set Augusta up to get caught and consequently lose house points because Holter was in Gryffindor, too. Then again, this whole thing was stupid.

"He said he'd be here. He... listen!"

There were voices coming up the stairs. One of them was Holter. The other belonged to Duncan and they seemed to be arguing. But they stopped as soon as they spotted the girls.

"So you came," Holter said.

"Of course, I came. I'm no chicken, am I?" Augusta shot back.

"Then why did you bring her?" Holter nodded towards Minerva.

"She's my second. You do know how a wizard's duel works, don't you?"

"Sure I do. Duncan's mine."

Duncan looked about as thrilled as Minerva felt.

"So," said Augusta.

"So," said Holter.

"I'll give you one last chance to take back what you said," Augusta offered.

Holter shook his head. "Never."

"You still think the Cannons are a bunch of losers?"

"I do. But I'll give you a chance to become a Tornados fan instead."

Augusta scoffed. "Never."

"Well, then."

They both raised their wands and pointed them at each other.

Nothing happened.

Minerva wondered if as Augusta's second she should tell her a spell she could use, since she didn't seem able to think of one on her own, but then again, she didn't actually want anything to do with this duel.

"Why aren't you doing anything?" Holter asked now.

"Why aren't _you _doing anything?" Augusta countered.

"You're a girl. You should go first."

"You're scared you'll hurt me because I'm a girl?" Augusta asked irritably. Now Minerva would have definitely come up with a spell and a nasty one at that.

Holter scratched his head. "Not just because you're a girl. Because I think you're actually kind of wicked. Wickedly funny."

Augusta lowered her wand. "Seriously?"

"Yeah, that's why I thought you should support a different team. You know, one that's an actual winner. Like you."

No one said anything or moved for a full minute or so. Then Augusta thrust her wand into Minerva's hand and stepped up to Holter to kiss him. Holter in turn dropped his wand to the floor and suddenly the two of them were full-on snogging – making noises Minerva had never heard before and hadn't particularly wanted to either.

Gobsmacked, Minerva looked from the lip-locked shapes of Augusta and Holter to Duncan, who looked similarly grossed out.

"Er…" he said. "Did you… did you know they fancied each other?"

"No," Minerva said weakly.

"What exactly are we supposed to…?" Duncan glanced at their friends and then back at Minerva as if wondering if they should follow their example.

Minerva took a step back. "I'm not seconding that!"

"Right. Me either." Duncan picked up Holter's wand and turned around towards the stairs.

"Hey! We can't just leave them here!" Minerva called after him.

"I'm not. I'm just checking that the coast is clear. If Pringle hears them doing… that… we're done for. You can babysit them until I'm back," Duncan said and left her alone with the oblivious couple.

"Great," Minerva muttered and covered her ears with a Noise-Cancelling Spell.

* * *

As she was lazily stirring her finished Wit-Sharpening Potion, Minerva was tempted to fill a couple of drops into a flask and then add them to Augusta's pumpkin juice during dinner. Sure, the potion was supposed to serve as an antidote to the Confundus Charm, allowing the drinker to think clearly again and improve his intellect. But perhaps it could also cure momentarily induced stupidity due to lovesickness.

Ever since that night on the Astronomy Tower, Augusta and Holter were all over each other whenever they had the chance. And when they didn't, for example when they were sitting at different tables in the dungeons and were each supposed to mix their own potions, they still made eyes at each other.

Minerva had to stop Augusta from adding her scarab beetles whole and then she also cut her ginger root for her because she was afraid that Augusta would cut off her own finger if trusted with a sharp knife. As a result, Augusta's potion wasn't a complete disaster by the end of class and Professor Slughorn was pleased enough with it.

Not as pleased as he was with Minerva's potion, though. "A perfect shade of purple! This Wit-Sharpening Potion would work instantly! Not that you need it, eh?" He winked at her and then leaned in closer. "Listen, my dear, I'm having a bit of a small gathering for Halloween in my office, and I've been meaning to invite you and Miss Longbottom." He handed them both a scroll of parchment with a wax seal. The seal had a snake on it. "I hope you'll do me the great honour of attending? And since it's such a fun holiday, you should both bring a guest, too!"

"Er…" said Minerva.

"Of course, we'll come, Professor," said Augusta.

"Wonderful!" boomed Professor Slughorn and shuffled off.

"I've been wondering when we'd get one of these," Augusta said excitedly when they made their way back up to the Entrance Hall. "I mean, I always knew you'd get invited eventually, but with me not being a genius at Potions I wasn't sure. Guess he really loves my mother's fudge, though…"

Everyone in the castle knew about Slughorn's parties, of course, but unlike Augusta Minerva hadn't been so sure if she actually wanted to get invited. But now that Augusta had accepted on both of their behalves, she had no choice but to go. She didn't want to offend Professor Slughorn.

"Why do we have to bring guests, though?" Minerva asked.

"Because it's a party, ain't it? That's what people do at parties," Augusta shrugged.

"Well, I wouldn't know, would I?"

"Cheer up! Perhaps you'll find someone to snog, too. It's really not that hard. Easier than Potions." Augusta laughed. "I have to tell Holter."

And she ran off, leaving Minerva behind to wonder whether there was something wrong with her because Potions did feel a lot easier to her than doing whatever Augusta and Holter were doing exactly. She was fifteen and so far she hadn't even come close to liking anyone that way. Then again, she didn't have to. She just needed to bring someone as a guest. Snogging was probably not a prerequisite, as Professor Slughorn would have gotten in a lot of trouble for that.

Minerva's eyes landed on Duncan, who had just turned away from Holter as soon as Augusta had caught up with him. Quickly, before she could change her mind, Minerva ran over to him. "Hey, do you want to go to Slughorn's Halloween party with me?"

Duncan looked confused for a moment, but then he shrugged. "Sure. Why not?"

Well, that was easy, Minerva thought, and she put the whole thing out of her mind until the entire castle filled up with a heavenly smell that signalled the start of the Halloween feast. That's when Minerva began to wish that she could actually go to the feast. There had to be food at Slughorn's party as well, but she wasn't sure if it would be as good. The Hogwarts Halloween feasts were legendary. Last year, the pumpkins had been the size of baby elephants.

Drew and Alison on the other hand were terribly jealous that Minerva and Augusta had gotten invited to the party and before they left the dormitory, they made them promise to tell them everything later. Augusta promised, Minerva mumbled something indistinct and kept reading.

"Come on, we should get going, too. Aren't you going to change?" Augusta asked her five minutes later.

Minerva looked up from her book. "Why?"

Augusta shook her head in exasperation. "You've really never been to a party before, have you?"

"Does Sunday School brunch count?" Minerva asked.

"School on a Sunday?" Augusta made a face. "What's that? Some kind of Muggle torture?"

Minerva laughed. "Depends on who you ask."

"Doesn't matter, but no one's going to wear their school robes tonight."

"Fine." Minerva closed her book and changed into a red tartan dress. When Augusta gave her an approving nod, she was about to fix her messy ponytail, but Augusta stopped her.

"Leave it open," she said. "Trust me."

Minerva didn't much care either way and so she didn't argue. They made their way down into the common room where Duncan and Holter were waiting for them. Augusta ran at Holter as if they had been apart for three years, not three hours. Minerva and Duncan stood next to them, feeling embarrassed. Somehow this didn't get any less awkward.

"You, uh, look nice," Duncan surprised her by saying.

"... Thanks," Minerva said after a bit of a pause.

"I like your hair that way," Duncan added.

Minerva stared at him, suddenly self-conscious. She had talked to Duncan on the Quidditch pitch a gazillion times, but never about her hair or her dress or stuff like that. This was weird. And she had a feeling it would only get weirder. She should have thought this through before she had asked Duncan to come with her. But it was too late now.

It was time for them to leave and they headed over to Slughorn's office, which had been magically altered to have enough room for all his guests. There were also lots of wickedly grinning pumpkins, dancing skeletons and low-flying bats. Minerva ignored all of the decoration and went straight for the food. It was as good an excuse as any to get away from Duncan for a moment. He had sort of looked at her hair as if he thought about touching it.

Unfortunately, Minerva ran right into Professor Slughorn at the buffet table. He was wearing a silver evening jacket with green lining and a top hat. Honestly, Minerva had no idea how she could have missed him.

"So happy to see you, my dear girl! And I see you've brought Mr. Bayfield. Very nice, very nice," he said, momentarily pausing in his attempts to fill his plate, even though it was already bursting with food. "Although, if I had known that you had an interest in dating other Quidditch players, I could have introduced you to Mr. Monahan…"

"Duncan and I aren't dating, Professor," Minerva said quickly, though she had no idea why she was telling him this.

"You're not?" Slughorn's face lit up. "But then you must absolutely talk to Padraig! He's an aspiring Potions master as well, just like you. You'd make a wonderful couple."

Minerva choked on her pumpkin juice. "No, sir, I, uh, already know Padraig. He's in my class…"

But Slughorn wasn't listening to her. "I saw him over there just a minute ago. I wonder where he's gotten off to…" He craned his neck, looking for Padraig, and Minerva couldn't decide if she was more terrified of staying here until Slughorn found him or of offending her teacher by simply running off.

Someone other than Padraig joined them first, however. "Good evening, Horace," Professor Dumbledore said and then turned to smile at Minerva. "And to you, Miss McGonagall."

"Hello, Professor," she replied somewhat too enthusiastically perhaps because she was so relieved to see him. Also, Dumbledore was wearing perfectly normal black evening robes.

"Albus, I thought you said you wanted to attend the feast instead," Professor Slughorn said distractedly.

"I did, but then I heard two of your ingenious skeletons sing a spectacular duet and I figured this had to be the place to be tonight," Professor Dumbledore explained and he did it with such a straight face, it was impossible to tell whether he was serious or not.

Either way, the flattery worked on Professor Slughorn. "They are quite fabulous, aren't they?" he nodded, smiling broadly. "And I'm glad you're here, Albus, because I wanted to introduce you to my friend Giacomo. He's on the International Confederation of Wizards and well, I thought the two of you would have lots to talk about. Hold on a minute. I'll go look for him."

Slughorn took off, apparently having forgotten all about his plans for Minerva and Padraig.

"I apologise for stealing your Potions master away from you," Professor Dumbledore said once they were alone.

"Oh no, that's all right, Professor," Minerva replied, and since she had a feeling that Dumbledore knew exactly how uncomfortable she had been before his intervention, she added, "Thanks."

He winked at her and reached for a pumpkin pastry. "So how are you enjoying your first Slug party?"

"Not particularly, sir," Minerva said truthfully.

"Well, if you feel the need to leave early, I shall of course inform Professor Slughorn that you've taken unexpectedly ill and are terribly sorry."

Minerva's mood brightened and she wondered if that meant that she could leave as early as right now. Before she could decide, Duncan caught up with her.

"Do you want to dance?" he asked, tapping her on the shoulder and pointing towards some of their fellow students who were indeed dancing – something that would have never occurred to Minerva.

Horrified that Duncan would ask her that and in front of Professor Dumbledore, who looked at them curiously, Minerva blushed. "I don't dance," she mumbled.

"Then this is the perfect opportunity to start, isn't it?" Dumbledore said cheerfully.

The gratitude Minerva had felt towards her Head of House vanished instantly. "Uh, I guess."

And so she and Duncan joined the other students and Minerva tried to dance, but she felt too awkward to really enjoy herself.

"Can we stop?" she asked after a while, but she didn't really wait for Duncan's answer. She just took off, looking for a corner of the room that was mostly empty. "Sorry," she added when Duncan had once again caught up with her.

"No, I'm sorry. Didn't mean to step on your toes. I'm not much of a dancer."

"Then why did you ask me to?"

Duncan shrugged. "I thought that's why you asked me to go to this party with you."

"No, I just, uh, needed to bring a guest, and I thought I'd ask someone I know how to talk to," Minerva explained, well aware of the irony that right now she didn't feel like she knew how to talk to Duncan at all.

And all he said was, "Oh."

They were both quiet for a while.

"What did you think of Noah's 'This is our year to win the Quidditch Cup' speech?" Duncan asked eventually.

"I agree with him in principle, but the part where he suggested that we should all go drown ourselves in the lake if we lose was a tad much," Minerva replied.

"Right? If he'd said that we should all shave our heads or walk around with the Dancing Feet Jinx, I might have been okay with that, but I was sort of planning to graduate eventually."

"Also, I don't think you can drown yourself in the lake, actually. I think the giant squid would fish you back out."

"We could throw Noah in and find out…" Duncan suggested.

Minerva laughed, and suddenly they were talking about their next Quidditch game against Hufflepuff, about their favourite players in the British and Irish Quidditch League and who they thought would win the World Cup this year. Talking Quidditch with Duncan was so easy that the time they had to wait until they could leave the party without risking to offend Professor Slughorn (or forcing Professor Dumbledore to lie for them) went by in the blink of an eye.

Sharing a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans between them, they walked back to Gryffindor Tower, laughing whenever one of them made a face because they had bitten into a particularly nasty flavoured bean. When they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, Duncan stopped rather than give her the password.

"Thanks for inviting me to come along tonight," he said.

"Thanks for sticking it out with me," Minerva replied. "You want to come to the Christmas party, too?"

She had meant it as a joke, but Duncan wasn't laughing when he said, "Yeah, I think I do."

Suddenly, the look in his eyes turned sheepish and before Minerva knew what was going on, he leaned in and kissed her. He didn't try to eat her face like Augusta and Holter always seemed to be doing, but it still sent a sudden jolt, like an electric shock, through her body, from her lips all the way down to her toes.

"Hope that was okay," Duncan said when it was over.

Minerva didn't really know what to say, but she didn't need to because the Fat Lady now cleared her throat.

"Well, it certainly made my night."


	13. Checkmate

**A/N: This was one of my favourite chapters to write! Hope you enjoy! Thanks to everyone who has reviewed or followed this story. Every alert from I get makes me smile.**

* * *

**13\. Checkmate**

As it turned out, Augusta had been right. Snogging was easier than Potions. It also involved a lot more tongue. Minerva had no idea if it was supposed to be like that or if she was doing it right. She also didn't know if she was supposed to be thinking this much while they were kissing. Augusta and Holter always seemed to be in a world of their own when they were together – a world that wasn't on planet Earth. But shutting off her brain had never been one of Minerva's strong suits. And more often than not, it would have been a lot more effort to convince Duncan to leave her alone for a while than to simply hang out with him and do her homework at the same time.

She got pretty good at that, actually. Since kissing required virtually no brainpower, Minerva could do that and still think about the difference between Trans-species Transformation Spells and Cross-species Switching Spells. Duncan quickly stopped complaining about her multi-tasking when he realised that them doing homework while they were hanging out meant that Minerva was also checking his homework.

"Hey, did I tell you that my parents are going to Brazil for some international conference thingy?" Duncan asked as they were sitting at a table in the common room.

"The 21. International Magical Trading and Investment Conference," Minerva said distractedly, crossing out a horribly confusing part in Duncan's essay where he had written that a mouse could be turned into a rat more easily than into a mango. Minerva suspected that he had meant a mongoose.

"Right, that one," Duncan nodded. "Anyway, it means I'll have to stay here for Christmas and I thought that could actually be fun if you stayed, too."

Now Minerva looked up from their Transfiguration homework. "Not go home for the holidays?" she repeated thoughtfully.

"Yeah, I've never stayed before. Have you?"

Minerva shook her head.

"I hear the food is supposed to be brilliant. Like, Halloween feast kind of good and then some. And we'd have so much free time on our hands. We could play Quidditch every day and practise that Disarming Charm for Professor Hawkyard. And we could actually sit in an armchair by the fire for once because the common room will be practically empty."

As much as Minerva loved Hogwarts, she usually looked forward to going home for the holidays to spend time with her family. Of course, she didn't miss her family quite as much as she used to. After all, she saw Junior all the time at meals or in the Gryffindor common room, though they currently tried to avoid each other because he would start to protest whenever he saw Minerva and Duncan kiss. And Malcolm, too, would join them here at Hogwarts in less than two years' time. So it really was only her parents Minerva needed to see.

But it hadn't been that long since she'd said goodbye to them on the first of September and Duncan's vision of spending Christmas at Hogwarts didn't sound half-bad. Minerva had never known the castle to be quiet, not during the day anyhow. It would make for a nice change. And quite honestly, Minerva wasn't looking forward to being interrogated by her parents about having a boyfriend. Because Robert was sure to tell them.

Still, it would be her first Christmas ever without her family, without going to church to listen to her father's Christmas sermon and watch the little kids in the nativity play forget all their lines because they were so excited. And then there was all the food the parishioners dropped off at the manse. Mrs. Caraidland's famous Haggis bon bons and Fraser's Clootie Dumpling...

"Come on," Duncan nudged her. "It'll be fun. I'll even help you study for Ancient Runes with those weird flash cards you made..."

Her flash cards were perfectly normal (well, some of them yelled at you when you got an answer wrong or started calling you names), but either way it was more fun to have someone quiz her. "Okay, yes, I'll stay," Minerva gave in.

And so she put her name down at the end of their next Transfiguration lesson when Professor Dumbledore asked them to let him know if they wished to stay in the castle for the holidays. She also gave him an apologetic grin because he had been forced to raise his voice to be heard over the ruckus Minerva's small army of parrots, penguins and pigeons were making. They seemed to enjoy no longer being parasols, penknives or pinwheels. Minerva was seriously tempted to keep a penguin to see how long it would last, but she didn't fancy spending the rest of her day cleaning up bird droppings.

Her parents weren't happy with her decision to stay at Hogwarts, but they accepted it so long as she promised to come home for Easter. Minerva felt a twinge of guilt when she read their letter and the disappointment it failed to conceal, and she wondered what it would be like for her parents when all three of their children would be off to school soon.

But then it began to snow.

It wasn't the first time Minerva had seen Hogwarts in the snow, but she was oddly cheerful now that she had made the decision to stay. To stay and spend Christmas with Duncan. The castle was truly magical this time of year. There were bright little fairies and sparkling snow crystals and huge Christmas trees and singing reindeers and tipsy suits of armour wrapped in mistletoe. She couldn't wait to enjoy it all.

On the morning the Hogwarts Express was set to leave for London, Minerva slept in and had a late breakfast, ignoring her classmates, who were running around in a panic, trying to get packed and have a bite to eat before they had to go. When she left the Great Hall, Minerva ran into the last of the students who were waiting to climb into one of the carriages that would take them down to Hogsmeade Station.

One of them was Duncan.

"What are you doing?" Minerva asked, her eyes wide.

The caught look on Duncan's face was really all the answer she would have needed. "Uh, well, the thing is... I got an owl from my mother. Their plans fell through because my grandma took a tumble down the stairs – she's all right, don't worry – but now they're not going to Brazil, so, ah..."

"So you're going home?" It was a stupid question, since Duncan was standing in line to get into the last carriage. But at the very least, he should have the guts to say it to her face.

"Well, yeah, my mother's making me, see..."

"And when exactly were you planning on telling me this?" Minerva cut across Duncan's feeble attempts to explain himself.

He avoided looking into her eyes. "The owl came last night when you'd already gone up to bed and you know I can't go up the stairs to the girls' dormitories. And this morning you were still sleeping and I had to go and tell Professor Dumbledore..."

"And you didn't think that I would want to change my mind about staying, too, then?" This was so unbelievably unfair and cowardly, Minerva couldn't decide what upset her more – that Duncan was doing this to her or that he had tried to do it to her behind her back.

"Er… perhaps there's still time..." Duncan said weakly.

Clearly, there wasn't. Minerva hadn't packed a single thing, and Pringle was already barking at the remaining students to get a move on.

"This was your idea!" Minerva said now, trying very hard not to yell. "You wanted us to stay here together!"

"Exactly. You didn't even want to. I just sort of talked you into it..."

"At first yes, but then I agreed, and now with the snow and the castle being so beautiful... I was really looking forward to it!" Minerva confessed, tears pricking her eyes, but she could not, would not cry in front of Duncan.

He already looked embarrassed enough as it was. "Well, how was I supposed to know that?"

"What do you mean?"

"You don't exactly let people in," Duncan said. He still sounded faintly embarrassed but also uncharacteristically mature. "But people aren't books. You can't just put them on a shelf and expect them to stay there forever."

Minerva glared at him, but secretly, she was shocked, so shocked that one could have knocked her over with a feather.

Pringle now stalked over to them and poked Duncan with a broomstick. "Will you get in that ruddy carriage, boy? The train doesn't wait."

"I'm going, I'm going," Duncan said irritably, taking a step away from the caretaker. "I'm sorry. I'll see you next year," he said to Minerva and walked away.

She watched the carriage leave and then everything was quiet. Just as she had known it would be. Except, it was nothing like that anymore. The castle wasn't calm, it was empty. The snow wasn't peaceful, it was smothering. And the Christmas decorations did no longer make her laugh, they laughed _at _her. She had thrown away her chance to be with her family for Christmas and New Year's, and for what?

With a gut-wrenching pang, Minerva thought of her father. He always got a little tipsy on New Year's Eve. He didn't usually drink, so one or two glasses of champagne were enough to do the trick. Shortly before Midnight, he would rest both of his hands on her shoulders and ask in all seriousness, "Do you know that I love you?" And Minerva would say, "Yes, Papa," but he would always double-check by asking, "You haven't forgotten?" And she would say, "No, Papa." And then his face would relax into a smile and he would declare solemnly, "Then this year was a good year."

Now that Minerva was stuck in Hogwarts, no one would tell her that they loved her this year. Or perhaps ever, if Duncan's ominous words were to be believed.

Angry and sad, Minerva grabbed a coat and left the castle, thinking that she would feel less alone out on the grounds. But the only thing that changed about the way she felt was that she was also getting cold. Eventually, she sat on a bench in the courtyard where she was safe from the wind and from prying eyes (not that there were a great many left in the castle right now).

She took out her wand and tried to turn the piled-up snow into penguins. But the bloody birds only managed to waddle in circles for a few seconds before they fell apart again. And again. And again. And again. And again.

Until her latest penguin suddenly paused while it was standing with its wings out and froze. Quite literally, as it turned into a sparkling snow sculpture. Since the sun wasn't out today, it shouldn't have sparkled liked that, but it seemed to have an inner light of its own that made it glow.

"Very pretty, Professor," Minerva muttered. She didn't even need to look up to know whose magic this was.

"Forgive me for saying so, but that compliment lacked somewhat in sincerity," Professor Dumbledore said.

"Sorry, sir, I'm not in the mood."

"When you have the entirety of the holidays still ahead of you?"

Minerva sighed. Dumbledore sounded surprised, but she knew he wasn't really, and she didn't have any patience for games right now. "Yes, and you would already know that... Professor."

"Would I?" Dumbledore asked, arching an eyebrow.

"I know Duncan came to see you this morning to let you know that he was going home for Christmas after all," Minerva said glumly.

"Ah, yes, Mr. Bayfield did tell me that his plans had changed," Dumbledore nodded, but he didn't say anything more than that.

Minerva huffed. "And you know I only decided to stay at Hogwarts for the holidays because of him. Because we're together."

"Actually, I didn't know that, as I try not to make assumptions about matters of the heart or listen to gossip. I find it's a much easier way to live," Dumbledore replied. "But I shall of course, belatedly, extend my best wishes to you and Mr. Bayfield."

"We broke up," Minerva said succinctly.

There was a pregnant pause that might have been comical if Minerva had felt remotely like laughing.

"Oh, well, I'm sorry to hear that," Professor Dumbledore said eventually.

Minerva shrugged, though she wasn't actually as indifferent about the whole thing as that gesture made it look like. "At least I think we broke up. Or maybe we were never really together to begin with..."

"Alas, that does sound complicated," Dumbledore said and finally he sat on the bench next to her.

She had expected him to leave her alone with her troubles. Surely, a man like Dumbledore had more important things to do than to listen to stories of teenage heartbreak. And Minerva had no clue why she wasn't embarrassed to tell him any of this – as she probably should have been. But since, for whatever reason, Dumbledore hadn't walked away and he appeared to be listening, she asked,

"Why is that, Professor? Why isn't there a formula how to do stuff like this? Like how you need an equal measure of viciousness and wand power in relation to an object's body weight and twice the amount of concentration to achieve a successful transformation?"

Professor Dumbledore chuckled. "Because if love were a formula, it wouldn't be so wonderfully adept at making fools of us all."

The word 'love' went through her like a lightning bolt. "Duncan and I aren't in love," she said quickly.

"It is nothing to be ashamed of," Dumbledore said gently. "We all have the capacity to love. It is by far our greatest strength. We just use it far too little."

Minerva agreed with that in principle. She was the daughter of a minister after all. She had spent all her life listening to him preach about the grace of charity and had been told to 'love thy neighbour', but she had never thought about that when it came to the other kind of love, the romantic kind. Whatever the hell that was exactly.

No matter what Professor Dumbledore said, she was pretty sure it wasn't what she and Duncan had. "I think I was just happy that he liked me, even though I'm not one of the pretty girls in our year." Minerva blushed. This really wasn't something she should be talking to her teacher about.

But she hadn't made him sit down to talk to her. He had chosen to do so and he still chose not to get up and walk away. Instead, Dumbledore said, "Beauty is a very fickle mistress. I fancied myself a rather handsome young lad, too, once, and then, of course, my brother broke my nose."

Any thoughts about Duncan and missing home and missing something she couldn't even put into words fell away all at once, and Minerva looked up at her Head of House with a sudden new-found curiosity. "But why would your brother break your nose, sir?"

"Ah, we were having a dreadfully bad day. All of us," Dumbledore said slowly.

Minerva didn't know to whom he was referring when he said 'all of us' or what exactly had happened that day, but she did know that she had never seen such sadness on her teacher's face. Now that it was there, she wasn't sure how she could have missed it before. It seemed to be edged into every line and settled deep in his eyes, heavy and haunting, the bright blue clouded with memories. But only for a fleeting moment. And then Dumbledore blinked.

She wanted to ask. She really did. But she couldn't. She felt very strongly that this was something that needed to be given, not taken. And Minerva had already caught a glimpse of it without asking, a glimpse of her teacher's pain that she hadn't even realised was there.

She wanted to comfort him. But she couldn't do that either. She was too scared. And too embarrassed. Not because she had witnessed Dumbledore's sadness, but because she had the audacity to think that she had anything to offer that would make him feel better.

So after the longest silence she asked, "Did you patch things up again? You and your brother?"

"We're friendly enough," Professor Dumbledore replied, and his voice was firm again. "As you get older, you'll learn that there are some things that unfortunately cannot be forgotten, and sometimes people cannot find it in their hearts to forgive them either."

"I already know that, sir," Minerva said, thinking of her parents, who loved each other. But every time they argued about something, the ugly truth lurked right there beneath the surface. That trust had been broken once.

Now it was Dumbledore who glanced at her and Minerva who didn't explain herself. And she knew he wouldn't push her either.

"I feel I must apologise. I didn't mean to add to your sadness with an old man's ramblings," he said.

"You're not old, Professor," Minerva protested.

That made him laugh. "I fear, in that regard, the proof is in the pudding, as they like to say, or in this case rather in the face that looks back at me when I look in the mirror."

"I think you have a very nice face," Minerva said, and then she desperately wanted to stick her whole head into a snowbank because she could feel that her cheeks were now flaming red.

Professor Dumbledore was kind enough to overlook that. "So do you. Particularly when you're not busy tormenting birds that are already encumbered by their inability to fly," he said lightly. "So, what do you say, Minerva? Will you come back inside and give Christmas at Hogwarts a chance?"

For whatever reason, the fact that Professor Dumbledore had just addressed her by her Christian name for the first time cheered her up more than anything else. When she glanced up at her teacher, she managed a grin. "Only if you promise there will be pudding."

And her dark mood was lifted further when she saw the familiar twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes. "I'd even go so far as to swear it on Godric Gryffindor's grave, if you'd prefer to take his word over mine. I've been told he was very partial to plum pudding."

Minerva laughed, and Professor Dumbledore's word held true. There was pudding. An insane amount of pudding. In fact, the general amount of food seemed vastly disproportionate to the number of students who had stayed at the castle for Christmas. Of course, the staff was still there, but not all of them and not all the time.

On Christmas Day, the High Table was only manned by Professor Beery, who was wearing a funny hat that looked like a living poinsettia, Professor Dumbledore and Madam Hailstone, who looked rather nonplussed when Professor Dumbledore offered her one end of a Christmas cracker. It went off with a loud bang and set a couple of pixies loose, who promptly stole the matron's food right from under her nose and started pelting her with it. The Great Hall roared with laughter, and even Madam Hailstone joined in eventually. But that might have been because the pixies had moved on to wage war on Professor Beery's hat. The plant, whatever it was exactly, was shaking its leaves indignantly.

Minerva helped herself to a little bit of everything and she took seconds and even thirds of the pudding. She flashed Professor Dumbledore a smile when their eyes met across the hall and he raised his goblet to her in response. But he quickly lowered it again before the pixies could try to snatch it.

Full to bursting, Minerva returned to her dormitory. This morning she had been pleasantly surprised to find a bunch of presents at the foot of her bed. The best gift by far had been the one from her parents. They had given her a new, highly polished Wizard's Chess set. Initially, she had been overcome with homesickness when she had unwrapped it. But now, all Minerva felt was the urge to play.

She grabbed the chess set and surveyed the common room. It was fairly empty, and the students who had stayed were mostly fifth- and seventh-years, who were either studying or not interested in doing anything that required any thinking on their part. It didn't take Minerva long to accept that she was out of luck, but then a bold thought ripped through her.

Tucking the chess set under her arm, she climbed out of the portrait hole and strolled through the empty castle until she reached Professor Dumbledore's study. She wasn't sure if he was there since it was the holidays and he wouldn't be working, but Minerva figured that she had nothing to lose and knocked.

No one said 'Enter' right away, but she thought she heard movement inside, and eventually the door was opened.

"Merry Christmas, Professor," Minerva said with a tentative smile.

"And the same to you," Professor Dumbledore replied cheerfully, but his expression was curious. Clearly, he hadn't expected her.

Before she could get cold feet, Minerva ploughed ahead and lifted the chess set she had brought. "My parents send me this for Christmas and I was just wondering if you'd like to play?"

* * *

Every now and then, people still surprised him. It didn't happen very often, but whenever it did, it usually elicited a smile from him. The not knowing made for a nice change. And being asked to play chess by a student was definitely a new one.

Of course, Albus was well aware that he was beginning to tread on dangerous ground here. There weren't a lot of rules concerning interactions between teachers and students outside of class. And even if there had been, Armando wasn't likely to enforce any of them. Horace and his Slug Club were ample proof of that. Accusing Albus of showing favouritism would have been a case of the pot calling the kettle black, as the Muggles liked to say.

Then again, Albus generally tried to hold himself to a higher standard than his colleague from Slytherin when it came to using students for the benefits they offered. And whatever else Horace did, he rarely spent time with only one particular student, his reasoning being, of course, that he would get more out of it if he 'collected' as many as possible.

The matter at hand was entirely different and really very simple, Albus thought. It was Christmas and Minerva had already confessed to him that she missed her family. While Albus was quite used to being alone for the holidays, it wasn't a feeling he particularly enjoyed either. And so it seemed perfectly ridiculous, almost inhumane even, not to alleviate both of their suffering with something as innocent as a game of chess.

"I must confess I haven't played in a while, but I suppose one game couldn't hurt," Albus said and stepped aside to allow her to enter his study. "Did you enjoy the pudding?" he asked as he indicated that she should sit in the armchair by the fireplace.

"I did, Professor," Minerva said as she sat down. "Perhaps I'll stay again next year just for the food."

Albus chuckled and conjured a second armchair and a table for the chessboard before he pointed his wand at the fireplace to get a fire going.

"Only, I was wondering what happens with all the… ah!" Breaking off with a sudden yelp, Minerva jumped back to her feet, causing Albus to turn around to her in alarm. But he quickly lowered his wand when he spotted the reason for her surprise.

Mere moments after Minerva had settled in the armchair, which, of course, was usually Albus' chair, Fawkes had landed on the back of it. When Albus had left his private rooms and had stepped into his study to answer the door, Fawkes must have followed him. He now perched on top of the chair in all his glory and surveyed Minerva with his beady eyes.

"Is that a… a phoenix?" she asked quietly as if afraid to make loud or sudden movements.

"Indeed, it is," Albus confirmed, deciding to wait and see how this would play out.

"But I never heard of anyone who kept one as a pet," Minerva protested weakly. "I mean other than that Quidditch team from New Zealand that has one as a mascot…"

"His name is Sparky, I believe," Albus supplied and chuckled, because he had once suggested to Fawkes that he could arrange a playdate. Fawkes hadn't looked at him for a week.

Minerva eyed Fawkes warily as though she expected him to burst into flames any minute, which, theoretically, he could have done. Still, she dared to draw nearer to him.

Fawkes cocked his head curiously.

"And I wouldn't exactly call him a pet," Albus said into the hushed silence. "He's more of a… friend."

"He's… magnificent," Minerva whispered and Albus had never heard her speak with such reverence before – not even, he might have added, about anything he, Albus, had done.

"Oh dear," he sighed. "You shouldn't have said that. Compliments like that go right to his head."

Fawkes did indeed fluff up his feathers and looked rather pleased with himself.

"What's his name?" Minerva asked, completely unaware that she was being bewitched.

"His name is Fawkes."

"That's way better than Sparky."

Smiling, Albus nodded. "I rather thought so, too."

"Can I… can I touch him, Professor?"

Albus looked at Fawkes, who had steadily edged closer and now presented himself on top of that armchair like a peacock. He was such an attention hog sometimes. "I daresay you can."

Carefully, Minerva reached out to stroke the crimson and gold plumage. Fawkes closed his eyes in approval.

"His feathers are so warm," Minerva noted.

"Oh yes, he could burn the both of us instantly if he wanted to," Albus replied as he sat down to set up the chess game. When he saw Minerva flinch, he added, "But he wouldn't do that. Phoenixes are very gentle creatures and extremely loyal when they do form attachments."

"How long have you had him?"

"Time is of very little consequence to a phoenix as they are immortal," Albus replied. "The same, however, cannot be said for the two of us. So, would you care to begin?" He pointed towards the chessboard.

Hesitantly, Minerva sat back down. Every now and then, she still glanced up at Fawkes, but eventually, she seemed to get used to his presence and focused on the game.

"I don't want you to let me win, Professor," she said after she had made the opening move since Albus had given her the white pieces. It had seemed only right.

Now, he heaved a sigh. "That's the problem with being moderately more talented at certain things than others. People will automatically assume that I must be good at everything else, too, when in fact I might be just as hopeless as they are."

Minerva gave him a very sceptical look, which was something he had noticed about her early on. She wasn't easily fooled or intimated. "What are you not good at then, sir?"

"I can't for the life of me carry a tune. And I've been told that I'm rubbish at Christmas tree decorating."

"Christmas tree decorating, sir?" she repeated with a lopsided grin while one of her pawns hit one of his over the head with all the enthusiasm of a chess piece that just got to play its first game.

"Oh yes, it takes a lot of thought and effort to make Hogwarts look this magical, you see," Albus nodded and he was only partially kidding about that. "And speaking of thought and effort…" he added with a smile when Minerva tried to order her knight to move and it turned around on its horse to argue with her about whether that move was advisable or not.

"Sorry, Professor," she said. "It's a new set."

"That's all right. The temperamental ones are always the good ones, aren't they?" Albus replied.

Minerva watched his next move and scowled. "Your pieces aren't arguing, though."

"Perhaps they think that I made a good move."

"But you didn't. It was terrible," she said bluntly and proved it by sending her Queen after his Bishop. It was quite literally kicked off the board. Fawkes watched with interest as it landed on the floor with a thud.

Albus suppressed a laugh. As her teacher, he should have been watching out for her manners, but he found her honesty to be refreshing. "Then this is most likely a case of magic recognising magic."

Minerva looked up in surprise. "So the chessboard knows that you're more powerful than me?"

"Let's say more experienced, and yes, magic always leaves traces if you know how to look for it."

She sighed. "Sometimes I wonder if I'll have enough time to learn it all."

"Oh, I think you've already learned a great deal," Albus said, amused.

"Yes, but there's always more."

"And that is exactly as it should be."

They made a couple of moves each without any additional conversation. "Who taught you how to play chess?" Albus asked eventually.

"My father," she replied, her eyes still on the board. "He told me I could learn a lot about people by how they play chess."

"And have you learned anything yet?" Albus asked curiously.

"You're playing defensively, Professor. You don't sacrifice your pieces unless you absolutely have to. Not even the pawns."

"Well, I always thought being a pawn in Wizard's Chess must be a very hard life," Albus said.

One of his pawns turned around and said, "Hear, hear!"

"But it's still only a game," Minerva pointed out.

"So you're saying that winning is more important than an act of kindness?" Albus couldn't help but ask this rather leading question. He was still a teacher after all.

Minerva looked up at him and smiled. "No, but it's fun. Checkmate, Professor."

Albus lowered his eyes to the board. "Oh, well played," he laughed, even though his King gave him a very nasty look when he was forced to hand over his crown to her Queen.


	14. In the Shadows

**A/N: What's happening in the world right now is crazy and scary, so I try to spend as much time in Hogwarts in my mind as I can. Writing really helps me. Perhaps reading about it helps you, too.**

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**14\. In the Shadows**

"All right, settle down, settle down. First order of business, if any of you are members of this top-secret duelling club that we teachers are not supposed to know about, I want them to stand up now and challenge me to a duel!"

The whole class went perfectly still and no one dared to move, not even to look at each other. They all kept their eyes on Professor Hawkyard.

"Good," he said when he seemed satisfied that no one was going to confess. "I better not find out that you were lying to me. Duelling is not a sport. At least not for students. But since you're going to do it anyway, you should at least do it properly. So, let's pair you up and see what you can do."

He made them stand, pushed the tables up against the wall and then sorted them into pairs. Minerva ended up next to Duncan. It was hard to tell who looked less happy about this.

"Now face your partner and bow. Of course, that tradition started in the good old days when people still had honour. These days you'll probably get hexed when you're dumb enough to turn your back on your enemy, but that's a different story," Professor Hawkyard said as he walked among them. "You've all learned how to disarm your opponent. Use that. But also, show me what else you got. Within reason. I haven't made a single trip to the hospital wing this year and I'm not about to start today."

Minerva waited for further instructions, but when they didn't come, she raised her wand and grinned at Duncan, knowing that she had everything she had ever learned at her disposal, which was considerably more than he had.

"Uh, remember we said we'd go back to being friends!" he said.

"Sure. Expelliarmus!" Minerva yelled and Duncan's wand flew out of his hand and sailed through the classroom.

He went to retrieve it. Minerva waited until he had reached it and was just about to pick it up before she said, "Accio Duncan's wand!"

It shot straight back into her hand. Duncan glared at her from across the room.

"Very funny," he muttered as he made his way back to her.

"You're a wizard. Try to think like one," Minerva said as she threw his wand back to him.

"You're a know-it-all. Try not to act like one," Duncan countered.

He got knocked back onto his arse with a loud bang when Minerva responded with, "Flipendo!"

"Hey! It was my turn," Duncan protested when he got back up.

Minerva snorted. "You lost your turn when you lost your wand."

Duncan rolled his eyes at her and bent down to tie his shoe. At least he pretended to when in fact he cried, "Furnunculus!"

Angry with herself that she had almost fallen for that old trick, Minerva only just managed to jump out of the way, colliding painfully with a chair. "Professor Hawkyard said no hospital wing!" she reminded Duncan, rubbing her right knee.

"As if a couple of pimples more would send you to the hospital wing," Duncan sneered.

Stung, Minerva whirled around and snarled, "Felisfenga!"

Immediately, the smart look was wiped off his face and Duncan doubled over, grimacing and wincing in pain. He helplessly waved his hands as if that way he could swat away this invisible attack. His skin was quickly turning an angry red, tiny red blotches blossoming everywhere.

"Finite! Finite!" Minerva cried urgently and breathed a sigh of relief when Duncan straightened up again and his skin slowly returned to normal.

"Blimey! What the bloody hell was that?" he asked, still slightly out of breath.

"I was just about to ask the same thing," said Professor Hawkyard, who suddenly came to a stop next to them. "I didn't recognise that curse."

Minerva stuck out her chin. Technically, she hadn't done anything wrong, though she did feel bad for retaliating against Duncan for his mean comments. "I invented it, Professor."

"You invented a curse?" Professor Hawkyard repeated, eyeing her suspiciously, and with a start, Minerva realised that this sounded a lot like something one would do in a secret duelling club.

"But I've never used it before!" she added quickly.

"What does it do exactly?" Professor Hawkyard asked.

"It hurts. That's what it does," Duncan muttered. "Feels like a bunch of razor-sharp needles pricking you all over."

"I've been calling it the, uh, the Clawing Cat Curse," Minerva explained.

Duncan's eyes widened, then he snorted. "Yeah, that fits, too."

"The Clawing Cat Curse, eh? That does sound positively devious," Professor Hawkyard nodded and he didn't seem to think that was a bad thing. "What was the incantation again? Just out of professional curiosity?"

"Felisfenga," Minerva told him cautiously.

"Right, well, I pity any bloke who's dumb enough to piss you off," Professor Hawkyard laughed and Duncan looked miffed. "Carry on then. Just stick to textbook-approved spells for a bit."

So they did and they also switched partners at some point, much to Duncan's relief, but Minerva wouldn't have tried her curse again either way. She had filed it away for emergencies.

At the end of the lesson, she left the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom with Augusta, who wholeheartedly approved of Minerva's curse and using it on Duncan.

"Do you think if you hadn't lifted the curse, it would have drawn blood?" she wondered.

"Probably," Minerva said, feeling a little sick.

"Well, he deserved it," Augusta said, seeing the look on her face.

"No, he didn't. He..." Minerva felt the back of her neck prickle and she raised her wand just in time to yell, "Protego!" A curse bounced off of her, deflected by her Shield Charm. Minerva could tell that it had only been a very weak curse because she wasn't as proficient with Shield Charms yet as she would have liked.

Sure that Duncan was trying to take revenge on her, Minerva whirled around and froze when the only possible culprit who was in the corridor with them was Robert Junior.

"Did you just try to curse me?" Minerva rounded on her brother in disbelief.

"Maybe," he said, his hands in his pockets. But she could see his wand sticking out.

"How dare you...?"

"Only because you cursed me, too!" Junior interrupted her.

Minerva straightened up to her full height. She was still taller than him and she was bloody well going to use that. "I would never do that!"

"Bollocks! You cursed me by setting foot in this school first!" Junior yelled back at her. "All the teachers expect me to be as good as you and then they always look at me like I'm the world's biggest disappointment when I'm not! Or they don't even care about me to begin with because they know I couldn't possibly be better than you!"

"That... that can't be true," Minerva said, but all her anger, all her indignation immediately left her, causing her to deflate like a balloon.

"If you say so. We all know you always have the right answers, don't you?" Junior hissed and stalked away.

Minerva watched him leave with no idea what else to say. So much for having all the answers.

"Blimey, I'm glad I don't have a brother," Augusta muttered.

"He's not usually like that," Minerva said thoughtfully.

"Well, then he'll calm down again, won't he?" She patted her on the back.

"I suppose so. Do you reckon he's right, though?"

Augusta kept walking. "Hurry up. We gotta get down to the greenhouses."

"Augusta?"

She sighed. "Fine, don't take this the wrong way, but I wouldn't want to live in your shadow either. Sometimes it's tough even being in the same classes as you, but sharing your last name? I dunno. Hogwarts might only be big enough for one McGonagall at a time."

Augusta gave her an apologetic smile and pulled her along to Herbology. But Minerva couldn't shake off what had just happened. She was so distracted that she almost got Bubotuber pus all over her. Her dragon-hide gloves were the only thing that saved her. Junior would probably have laughed if she'd gotten something wrong for once.

For most of the day her thoughts dwelled on her brother and how she actually felt sorry for him. She didn't want him to have a bad time at Hogwarts because of her. It was only his second year. Which also made her realise how unlikely it was that Junior would have already learned a curse like that and be skilled enough to use it on her. Unless, of course, he was in a certain illegal duelling club...

Suddenly suspicious, Minerva surveyed the Gryffindor common room. It was a Tuesday night so Junior should have been at a meeting of the Gobstones Club. But Minerva quickly spotted a group of third-years playing Gobstones in a corner of the room. When she asked them, they told her that the meeting tonight had been cancelled, and, incidentally, Robert hadn't been at a meeting in a while.

Alarmed, Minerva considered her options. She didn't have any proof, but she had a strong feeling about this. Joining a dangerous and forbidden school club must have sounded to Robert like the easiest way to set himself apart from her. She just needed someone to believe her, someone who had the power and authority to do something about it.

Leaving her homework for later, Minerva headed straight for Professor Dumbledore's office. Perhaps he had a way of finding Robert, or, if not, he could interrogate him later. Surely, Junior wouldn't be dumb or brave enough to lie to Dumbledore. Unfortunately, her Head of House wasn't in his study. So Minerva tried the staff room next and knocked on the door.

She needed all of her self-restraint not to take a giant step back when it was Professor Narramore who opened. "Good evening, Professor," Minerva said in what she hoped was a perfectly polite tone. "I was looking for Professor Dumbledore."

"He's not here," Narramore replied curtly.

"Oh, do you know where I could find him then?"

"Why would I know that?" Narramore asked irritably.

Annoyed that she was the only one trying to be polite, Minerva said, "Perhaps you could ask a crystal ball or read tarot cards..."

"Even if I had the time, they wouldn't give any answers to someone so completely unwilling to understand them such as yourself," the Divination teacher replied indignantly and was about to turn away.

"I'm sorry, Professor," Minerva said quickly. "Could you... if he comes back, could you just tell him I'm looking for him and that it's important?"

"I shall give him the message, but mark my words, girl, this obsession with Professor Dumbledore is very unhealthy," Narramore told her and closed the door in her face.

Leaving Minerva to glare at it in silence. She wasn't obsessed with Professor Dumbledore! He was her Head of House. She and her brother were both in Gryffindor. They were supposed to come to him with stuff like this.

Busy abusing Professor Narramore in her head, Minerva ran straight into Ken Rigby, who was in her brother's year. "Hey, do you know where Junior, I mean, Robert is?"

"Er..." said Rigby and his eyes darted from left to right in a panic. That was the nice thing about Gryffindors. Most of them were really bad liars.

"He's in that ruddy club, isn't he?" Minerva challenged the younger boy, and while using her height hadn't worked with her brother earlier, she had a feeling it would definitely work this time around.

Rigby faltered. "I don't really know anything about that," he said quickly. "Only that... well, he's been bringing back food from the kitchens a lot lately. So I'm guessing they're meeting really close by."

Minerva thanked him and let him go. She had never sought out the kitchens before since she had always assumed that students weren't allowed to, but she knew that they were located on the basement level. So she headed down there, taking the door on the left-hand side of the marble staircase.

It was a brightly lit corridor, and once Minerva had walked past the spot where she suspected the Hufflepuff common room to be, it was also empty. Until she rounded a corner and came face to face with a single Ravenclaw student. Minerva didn't know him, but when he saw her, his initial reaction was panic and then, probably when he realised that she wasn't a teacher or a prefect, suspicion. He was clearly a lockout.

Minerva walked up to him and said, "I want to join."

"I don't know what you're talking about," the Ravenclaw replied.

"Is there a password? Or an entrance fee?" Minerva scoffed. "How about I give you some free advice. A Ravenclaw like you has no business standing around this corridor. So if you want to be inconspicuous, give the job to a Hufflepuff. Or at least pretend to read a book."

The Ravenclaw gaped at her. Perhaps not all of them were super smart.

"So, can I go in now or should I get a teacher?"

"Second door on your right."

"Thanks."

Minerva headed for that door and stopped right outside, but she couldn't hear a thing. Somebody must have made the room soundproof. Apparently, some members of this club were clever after all. She now also remembered seeing a thin sparkly line that had been drawn on the floor at the entrance to the corridor. Probably some kind of age line that would raise an alarm if a teacher crossed it. Quite clever, indeed.

Still, Minerva could enter the room without difficulty, and she saw right away that she was in the right place. It looked like in Professor Hawkyard's class, only unsupervised. Students were duelling each other all over the place. Most of them Ravenclaws and Gryffindors, but some Hufflepuffs and Slytherins, too. No one paid her any mind, apparently thinking that their lookout would have warned them if she were someone to worry about. Minerva searched the room for her brother and briskly walked over to him.

"Merlin's pants! What are you doing here?" he cursed when he saw her.

"I was going to ask you the same thing, actually," Minerva shot back.

Robert didn't even look guilty. "How did you find us?"

"Does it matter? I did find you. And do you really think that none of the teachers will be able to do the same thing?"

"Did you tell anyone?" Robert's eyes widened in alarm.

"No, I didn't," Minerva told him truthfully. "But I would have. This is wrong. You could get seriously hurt."

Her brother rolled his eyes at her. "We're just practising. For fun. It's not as if we're trying to kill each other."

There was a loud bang, a student was ripped off his feet and thrown against a wall where he crumpled to the floor, seemingly unconscious.

"Er... that's never happened before," Robert said quickly.

Minerva was just about to see if that student was all right when a shrill alarm filled the room and everyone stopped duelling. "Someone's in the corridor," Robert whispered, and no one moved, hoping that perhaps it was Professor Beery heading for the Hufflepuff common room or the kitchens, both equally likely.

But then the lookout came bursting into the room. "Pringle! He's coming! He knows!" he yelled.

The effect on the room was instantaneous. After some yelling and cursing and even dropping of wands, everyone started bumping into one another in their attempts to get to the door first and make a run for it.

"Stop! Stop! Running will only make this worse!" Minerva warned, grabbing Robert's arm to hold him back.

"You snitched!" he accused her.

"You really think I would have told Pringle?" she retorted, although yes, she would have told someone, just not Apollyon Pringle.

When half of the room ran and half stayed, they heard Pringle yell, "I see you, you little prats! I know your faces! I will get you later!"

Then the caretaker appeared in the doorway, breathing heavy, a mad glimmer in his eyes. "Aha, there's the rest of you! A whole room full of troublemakers. This is going to be a fun night then," he muttered as he moved in closer. "Now, who wants their punishment first?"

Minerva took a step forward. "Mr. Pringle, shouldn't you go alert the Heads of House...?"

"So they can go soft on you and take a couple of measly points from your houses? As if you cared about that? Nah, there's only one way to drive this lesson home!" Pringle reached around his back and pulled out a cane.

"You can't do that!" Minerva gasped. She knew that all students either feared or hated Pringle, but she had never gotten in serious trouble with him before, so she hadn't known why exactly, other than his nasty temper.

"I can do whatever I want to punish little rule breakers like you," Pringle snarled. "So, are you volunteering to go first then?"

Making sure that she was still blocking her brother from view, Minerva said firmly, "I want to talk to Professor Dumbledore."

"Well, he isn't here, now, is he?" Pringle sneered.

"Actually, Apollyon, he is."

The looks on the faces of Minerva and Pringle were polar opposites to one another when Dumbledore moved into the room.

Pringle turned around slowly. "I was just taking care of some nasty business here. Nothing to concern you, Professor."

"Ah, but you see, Apollyon, it does concern me since these are some of my students," Professor Dumbledore responded calmly.

"Of course, but I was already taking care of it." Pringle raised the cane in his hand with an ugly grin.

Dumbledore looked at it coolly. "Yes, only your understanding of taking care of things differs greatly from mine, I'm afraid."

"What I understand, Dumbledore, is that there's no child that wouldn't benefit from a decent whipping."

"We'll have to agree to disagree on that, Apollyon."

"Disagree all you want, Dumbledore, but it's always been done that way," Pringle insisted.

Professor Dumbledore sighed. "I don't know why everyone seems to think that makes for a valid argument. After all, just because something is, doesn't necessarily mean it should be."

Pringle looked as if this was beginning to go right over his head, but what he did understand was that Dumbledore wouldn't let him use that cane on anyone. "I will talk to the headmaster about this," he threatened.

"As will I," Dumbledore said with an air of finality. "Now, why don't you go and round up the rest of the students? I believe most of them are hiding in the kitchens. Bring them back here and then be so kind to alert Horace, Cyrille and Herbert."

It was unmistakable how upset Pringle was that he wouldn't get to punish anyone, but he didn't dare to refuse Dumbledore's orders. He was probably clever enough to realise that if he and Dumbledore went to the headmaster now to plead their cases, he wouldn't be the one to come out on top.

As soon as the caretaker had left, Minerva approached her Head of House. "Thank you for coming, Professor."

"Thank you for trying to alert me," he replied.

Minerva scowled at the empty doorway where Pringle had just disappeared. "I might not have if I had known what Pringle would do..."

"Like many of us, Apollyon is merely set in his ways," Dumbledore said.

"His ways are barbaric!" Minerva hissed. She was appalled that she had never known about some of the things that were going on in this castle.

"I agree with you, but please do not forget that Hogwarts is a very old school. Don't judge it too harshly because it needs time to change – and the right-minded people to help it do so."

Dumbledore smiled at her softly, but in this case, Minerva couldn't help but think that these 'right-minded people', clearly meaning Dumbledore, should really get a move on.


	15. Rivalries

**A/N: This is more of a small chapter, but I should have the next one ready soon. I want to say thank you to everyone who has reached out to me or is following this story. Take care and stay healthy.**

* * *

**15\. Rivalries**

It had finally come. Her O.W.L. year. Well, technically, it hadn't started yet since she was still aboard the Hogwarts Express on her way back to school. But just as quickly as the back half of her fourth year and the summer holidays had passed, this year would pass, too, and then it would be time for her O.W.L. exams.

Knowing how much studying she had to do, Minerva had even considered giving back her shiny new prefect badge that had arrived with her Hogwarts letter. She had been pleased, of course, very pleased, but it meant even more responsibilities on top of school and Quidditch. Sorting out her priorities between the three things had been the cause of much trepidation for Minerva over the summer.

Eventually, she had remembered the look on Professor Dumbledore's face when he had told her that Hogwarts needed teachers and students with the right mindset, people who cared. She couldn't imagine facing him and telling him that she wasn't interested. And then there were her parents, who had been overjoyed at the news. Her father had even talked about it in his sermon, how he was blessed with three wonderful children (he couldn't neglect her brothers of course) and how he was reminded every day that to look upon their faces was to look upon the face of God. Minerva couldn't say with any certainty whether God had had anything to do with her becoming a prefect or if he had a hand in Hogwarts business at all, but either way, she couldn't disappoint her father.

So now she was entering the Prefect's Carriage to receive the mandatory instructions by the Head Girl and Boy. Also, she was very curious who else from her year she would meet in there. None of the faces that greeted her were much of a surprise, though. Actually, Minerva had been most uncertain about her fellow prefect from Gryffindor and she was relieved to find that it was Chase Abney. She had been worried that it might be Duncan. Being on the same Quidditch team was quite enough time she had to spend with him outside of class.

When Minerva sat down next to Chase, he grinned at her, clearly not surprised to see her here, but looking like he was a little surprised that he was.

But it was Padraig Monahan from Slytherin, who was sitting on Minerva's other side, who said, "I knew Dumbledore would make you a prefect."

"Actually, new prefects are chosen by the headmaster," Minerva told him because she wasn't sure what exactly he had meant to imply.

"Yes, but he asks the Heads of House for their recommendations since they know the students best and then he usually just goes with that," Padraig replied.

"In that case, I knew that Professor Slughorn would make you a prefect, too," Minerva said.

Padraig grinned, not denying it. "Yeah, being liked by Old Sluggy can be very useful. I'm sure he would have made you a prefect, too, by the way, if it'd been up to him."

Minerva didn't say anything in response because she already knew that. She also knew what else Slughorn would do. Like make the two of them be a couple...

"Anyway, I've been meaning to ask you..." Padraig said slowly. For one wild second Minerva thought that he would actually ask her out. But then he continued, "... how you'll be studying for your O.W.L.s?"

"What?" She hadn't expected that question either.

"Well, you're the best in our year. Have been for four years running, so I guess you're the one to ask. That's why I was hoping to see you here today."

"You could have just asked me that in Potions," Minerva pointed out.

Padraig made a face, and again, for a moment Minerva thought that he didn't want to give Slughorn the wrong idea about them, but then she realised that this wasn't about his Head of House but about all the other Slytherins.

"You would have been too embarrassed to be seen asking me for advice. Is that because I'm a girl or because I'm a Gryffindor?" Minerva asked sharply.

"Come on. You know what it's like between Slytherin and Gryffindor," Padraig said.

"Then why would I give you an answer?"

"Because we're both prefects now. We should lead by example, shouldn't we?"

Minerva knew he was just trying to talk her into doing what he wanted, like all Slytherins, but he also had a point. "You're right. Which is why we should start a real study group. For everyone. All years. All houses. We can help out the younger students, which is a great way to make sure that we know our stuff, and perhaps there'll be some sixth- or seventh-years who we can turn to when we get stuck."

The look on Padraig's face said very clearly that this was not what he had bargained for. "No one will go for that."

"Won't they? You were desperate enough to ask me!"

He had a hard time denying that. "But is that even, like, allowed? That duelling club got in a lot of trouble last year."

"Because duelling is against school rules and because they didn't ask for permission," Minerva argued. "If we ask someone, I'm sure we could do it in the Great Hall between meals. And as prefects we're authorised to supervise. We wouldn't even need a teacher."

"I guess," Padraig said dubiously.

"This kind of thing also looks great on a job application," Minerva added. She knew they would be given career advice later this year as well.

That seemed to get through to Padraig immediately. Sometimes it was incredibly easy to speak a language that Slytherins understood.

"All right, what the hell, let's give it a try."

* * *

At breakfast the next day, Minerva anxiously waited for Professor Dumbledore to hand out the new timetables. Watching the four Heads of House work their way down their respective house tables was always a bit of an elephant race.

Professor Slughorn talked to every student, or almost every student. He skipped right over those whom he didn't like but spent even more time with his favourites. Professor Beery wasn't averse to having a bit of a chat with his Hufflepuffs either. Professor Dumbledore was a lot more efficient, but he was also very well liked and too kind to shut down any attempts at a conversation outright. And so Professor Sowerby was usually the fastest. The Ravenclaws were generally more eager to get to class than to stay and make small talk. Also, Sowerby was the only female Head of House and thus (or so Minerva was secretly convinced) more organised.

Eventually, Dumbledore reached her. "Thanks, Professor," she said as he handed her the new timetable. "And thank you for recommending me to become a prefect," she added. Now that she had decided against it, she saw no point in telling him that she had almost thought of deferring.

"I had very little to do with that as it is solely a reflection of your accomplishments," Dumbledore replied. "But I was, of course, delighted that you have made my decision so very easy indeed."

Minerva grinned at him, but she knew that they didn't have much time. "Sir, Padraig Monahan and I would like to start a study group and we were hoping to do it in the Great Hall."

Professor Dumbledore looked at her over his half-moon spectacles. "A study group?"

"Yes, for students of all years and all houses. We thought it would be a good way to study for our O.W.L.s." She used the term 'we' very loosely.

For a moment, Minerva thought her Head of House would point out that she hadn't even started with any of her O.W.L. classes yet or that this might be a somewhat ambitious undertaking less than 24 hours into her tenure as a Hogwarts prefect.

But all he said was, "I shall speak to the headmaster and let you know."

* * *

The first week passed with many warnings and admonishments from their teachers to take the O.W.L.s seriously. As if to emphasise the point they were trying to make, none of them wasted any time with revisions as they usually did at the start of a new term. They all dived right into difficult new areas of study.

So Minerva was unusually tense when Professor Dumbledore told them, "This year we shall become acquainted with a new branch of Transfiguration magic known as Vanishment, which is, of course, the art of causing things to vanish or, in other words, to make things go into non-being. I strongly suggest you give this matter your fullest attention as this will be one of the hardest Transfigurations you will be tested on in your O.W.L.s. The difficulty of the Vanishment to be performed positively correlates with the complexity of the organism to be vanished..."

While the look on Augusta's face became increasingly glassy, Minerva scribbled away on her piece of parchment. Her mouth had gone quite dry. She was excited to try something new, but she could have done without all this pressure. It took her all hour to make her snail vanish and even then, it left its feelers behind. Of course, Professor Dumbledore informed her that her views on what was a long time to master a spell were somewhat skewed, as one lesson was not a lot of time at all. That (and the fifteen points for Gryffindor that came with it) made Minerva feel a little less strained. She also remembered her study group request.

"Did you have time to talk to the headmaster, sir?" she asked.

"Yes, you may proceed, provided your meetings are concluded by the time dinner starts," Dumbledore told her. "Professor Dippet also wanted me to let you and Mr. Monahan know that he commends you for your dedication and commitment."

It was nice to hear that the headmaster now actually knew her name, but Minerva had never even talked to him in person, so what she much rather wanted to know was, "Do you think it's a good idea, Professor?"

"I generally think that most ideas are good ideas as I do believe that we should all make the most of the brainpower we have each been given," he said brightly, which was an answer as only Professor Dumbledore could give it.

Minerva accepted it with a laugh and thanked him. Before their next Potions lesson, she let Padraig know that they had been given the go ahead.

"And what are you two whispering about?" Professor Slughorn asked eagerly when he opened the door to the classroom. "Anything I should know about?"

They hadn't been whispering at all as there was no point in hiding anything about this. "We're starting a study group, Professor."

Slughorn's face fell – clearly, he had hoped for something more useful to him – but he quickly caught himself. "Of course, you are! Two of the best students in the whole school. That's very big of you. Very generous."

Those weren't the words Minerva would have used at all, but she knew better than to argue. In fact, she got a little nervous about the whole thing when their first scheduled meeting drew nearer. All the teachers knew about this now, so if they were to fail right out of the gate, it would be rather embarrassing.

Thankfully, it went all right for a first meeting. The turnout wasn't quite what Minerva had hoped for, but it wasn't bad either. And perhaps, too many students at once would have been too much to handle anyway. As it was, they had a nice balance of older and younger students.

Minerva helped a fourth-year to get the hang of the Water-Making Spell. In her previous attempts, the Hufflepuff girl had either produced nothing but a few pitiful drops or alternatively flooded almost the entire hall. But by the end of their study group session a nice jet of clean, drinkable water shot out of the tip of her wand when she yelled, "Aguamenti!" She beamed at Minerva in thanks.

In turn, Minerva got to improve her Shield Charm rather dramatically when she found a Ravenclaw seventh-year who had a real knack for it. His shields were so strong and so vast, he could protect half of the students in the hall with them. Minerva promised him that if he showed up again next time, she would return the favour by giving him some pointers on his Cross-species Transfigurations, which were still a little shaky.

Padraig had also held up his end of the deal and brought some Slytherins with him, who were surprisingly easy to work with. Most of them, anyway. There were always exceptions. Near the end of their meeting, a group of them showed up just to hang out and be annoying. Since this was the Great Hall, they had a right to be here, and Minerva couldn't tell them off as long as they didn't bother anyone other than by being very loud.

Apparently, they were waiting for Padraig because at some point one of them yelled, "Are you coming, mate, or what?"

"Yeah, or are you too busy hanging out with your new study buddy?" That sneering voice Minerva knew only too well. It belonged to Israr Sevazlian, who had so far managed to break, bruise or split open some part of Minerva's body in every Quidditch game they had ever played against one another. He gave her a nasty grin when their eyes met across the hall.

Padraig tried to shush his friends, but Minerva still heard what he was saying, "We're not buddies," he hissed. "But yes, I am studying with her, because whether we like it or not, she's getting the best grades in our year, which means she will definitely earn more Galleons than you one day. And you can laugh now, but hopefully, so will I."

Minerva raised her eyebrows in surprise. She wasn't in it for the money (so far that part hadn't even crossed her mind), but for a Slytherin, that was a reasonable argument, she supposed. And anything she was better at than Sevazlian was all right with her. When he didn't seem to find a counterargument to Minerva's good grades and her corresponding job prospects, she gave him a smug look and turned away.

At the end of the session, most students agreed to come back next week, and Minerva stayed behind to clean up any mess they had made so they would actually be allowed to come back and use the Great Hall again. Since there was still some time left before dinner, she then decided to head back to the Gryffindor common room.

She was crossing the Entrance Hall when she thought she heard a cat. That in itself was nothing unusual in Hogwarts, but Minerva couldn't actually see a cat, and its miaows sounded muffled somehow. It was possible that it had gotten stuck somewhere, though cats usually knew the castle a lot better than anyone else. But it could always be a young cat and in any case, she wanted to make sure.

She followed the pitiful sounds all the way to a broom closet, and when Minerva opened the door, two feline eyes looked up at her out of the darkness. She had only a couple of seconds to realise that there was no way this cat could have gotten into this closed closet on its own when she heard a familiar voice behind her.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

There was nothing Minerva could do before the Full Body-Bind Curse hit her. Her arms and legs snapped together and she fell forwards, stiff as a board, her forehead banging against the inner back wall of the closet. Her feet were quickly stuffed inside, too, and then the closet door was slammed shut, leaving Minerva in total darkness, unable to move or see. She could still hear, though. She could hear Sevazlian laugh for a good long while before he took off.

The only good thing was that the cat had run off before Sevazlian had shoved Minerva in the closet and so it was no longer trapped. Admittedly, that was cold comfort to her right now. Not that Minerva was actually cold. Rage and humiliation burned inside of her hotter than dragon fire. Sure, Sevazlian had jumped her from behind, lured her into a trap even, when she hadn't expected an attack. But she should have! She should have been better than this. Better than him.

Now she had very limited options, if not to say, none. She had to wait until someone would actually look into this broom closet or notice that she was gone and somehow manage to track her here or until Sevazlian's curse would eventually wear off. All of these things could take a while. Especially since every minute felt like years and Minerva's forehead throbbed painfully from colliding with the back wall.

She knew that nonverbal spells might help, but she hadn't actually been trained to use them yet, and she wasn't currently holding her wand, which made success highly unlikely. Still, as she had nothing better to do, Minerva concentrated on thinking 'Finite!' until she was blue in the face.

Having no way to tell the time, aside from the rumbling in her stomach that got worse by the minute or hour or whichever, and no idea what was going on in the castle, Minerva was flooded with disorientation and relief when the door to the closet was ripped open again eventually.

Her relief faded somewhat when she saw that it was Padraig who had found her.

"Sorry it took me so long. Israr only just told us during dinner what he did... Ah, right, Finite!"

When the curse left her body, Minerva crashed to the floor, her legs feeling like jelly. Padraig offered her a hand, but she ignored it and pulled herself back up on her own. Once she was certain that she would remain standing, she glared at the Slytherin prefect.

"Or maybe you were too busy having a laugh to come and help me right away," she said.

Padraig looked annoyed about that accusation. "No, I just told you. I didn't know until Israr told me."

"At dinner?"

"Yah."

"Then why is dinner already over?" Because now that Minerva was out of the closet, she could tell. It was too quiet.

"Well, I was actually late to dinner," Padraig said.

"I don't believe you. I think you're lying."

Padraig shrugged. "It's not my problem if you don't trust my word more than your preconceived notions about Slytherin."

Minerva folded her arms. "Did you take points from him then?"

"For what?"

"For attacking a prefect!" Minerva cried, her eyes bulging.

"Oh, come on. I can't take points from my own house. No one does that. That's just stupid."

"It would have been the honourable thing to do!"

Padraig stared at her. "Blimey, is there even air to breathe on that high hippogriff of yours?"

"So you won't do anything about this?" Minerva demanded.

"I got you out, didn't I?" Padraig shot back. "If that's not enough, I don't know what you want from me."

Minerva gave him a cold look before stalking off. "Then I guess I know who to trust."

And it wasn't anyone who was wearing a snake over their heart.


	16. Nerves

**A/N: Here's the next chapter. I'll probably have another one ready over the weekend. Hope you enjoy.**

* * *

**16\. Nerves**

"Blimey, did you know that to be an Auror you'd need at least five N.E.W.T.s, plus a series of character and aptitude tests?" Augusta goggled the leaflet in her hand as though it had personally offended her.

"Well, they have to make sure that you're tough enough to face dark magic and dark wizards, don't they?" Minerva replied, nervously keeping an eye on the time.

"I guess. Maybe you should go for it then."

"Maybe…"

"Or any of these," Augusta said, throwing the leaflet back on the pile of pamphlets that had appeared on every table in Gryffindor Tower. "You have the grades for it."

"Not yet I don't," Minerva muttered, watching the seconds tick by.

Augusta slumped back in her chair. "Seriously, what do you reckon you want to do?"

"I…"

"Maybe you should be a teacher."

Surprised, Minerva looked up at her brother who had walked over to them. Before she could ask, he added, "Since you're such a teacher's pet already."

Minerva's face fell. Things between her and Robert had been rocky ever since she had sort of been involved in shutting down that duelling club last year. And of course, there was still the matter of her overshadowing him in every class. Well, almost every class. In an obvious attempt to get out from under her, Junior had chosen to take up Care of Magical Creatures and Divination this year. He seemed to love it. Possibly because Professor Narramore mentioned every other lesson that he was clearly the more talented one in the family.

"Careful, little brother. You know I can take points from you now," Minerva reminded him.

"Not without reason," Robert countered. "Because that would be against the rules."

"For you, I might disregard some of them," she warned, but her brother only laughed.

"Yeah, right."

"He has a point, you know," Augusta said after Robert had joined some of his classmates. "You do have a thing with rules. Perhaps there's a job in here for that."

Minerva opened her mouth to respond, but she had forgotten to keep her eyes on the clock and quickly jumped to her feet. "I have to go."

"Good luck," Augusta called after her.

Since she didn't want to be late for her appointment with Professor Dumbledore, Minerva took all the shortcuts she knew to get to his study. But when she was actually standing outside his office door, she couldn't bring herself to knock for almost a minute. She was beginning to attract funny looks from students who walked by, though, and so she finally went in.

Professor Dumbledore's desk was littered with pamphlets very similar to the ones Minerva and Augusta had just looked at. Instead of studying any of them, though, her Head of House was gazing outside the window, his chin resting on his long, intertwined fingers.

Upon her entrance, he turned to smile at her. "Good day, Minerva."

"Hello, Professor," she said, slowly approaching his desk. "Uh, I brought you something."

She set down the small box and watched as Professor Dumbledore's eyebrows shot up. "Cockroach clusters? Oh my, that's very considerate of you, though I must admit that I am more partial to simple toffee eclairs."

"Actually, they are for Fawkes," Minerva explained, blushing slightly.

"Ah," made Professor Dumbledore.

A low, melodic cry filtered into the room.

"He says thank you," Dumbledore relayed with a chuckle.

Curious, Minerva looked around the office, her eyes landing on a particularly large painting. She thought Fawkes' cry had originated from the other side of it. Perhaps there was a hidden door leading into another room? She had never thought about this before, but obviously, her teacher needed to live and sleep somewhere, and it would make sense if those rooms were accessible through his study.

"Won't you sit down?" Dumbledore asked, watching her as curiously as she was watching out for hidden passageways.

"Yes, sir," Minerva said and sat.

"Now, as you know this meeting is meant for us to discuss any ideas you might have about your career once you leave Hogwarts and to decide what you'll need to do in your remaining two years at this school to get there," Dumbledore began.

Minerva fidgeted in her chair. "Yes, sir."

Dumbledore paused and gave her his signature look over the top of his half-moon spectacles, which always made Minerva feel as though she was being X-rayed. Especially ever since she had learned that mind reading was actually a thing. It only made her fidget more.

"Are you all right? I get the feeling that you don't actually wish to be here, which is something I can't remember ever having seen in you."

"No, sir, it's just…" Minerva sighed. "I figured you were going to ask me what I want to do and I… I don't think I know." And she hated not having an answer to a teacher's question. If that made her a teacher's pet, then so be it.

"Then it's a good thing that I'm not just here to tell you what it says in these pamphlets," Dumbledore replied with a smile that was perfectly unconcerned. "I assume you have read all of them?"

Minerva nodded.

"Nothing jump out at you then?"

"Well, I do know that I'll never work for the _Daily Prophet,"_ Minerva said. She knew that not all journalists were like Greg Burnside, the only reporter she had ever met personally, but that kind of cutthroat atmosphere he must have hailed from was not what she was looking for.

"I'm glad to hear that because I seem to have temporarily misplaced that particular leaflet," Professor Dumbledore replied brightly and some of the tension in Minerva's stomach eased.

Somehow she had forgotten that all she was here to do was to talk to Professor Dumbledore. She knew he would never judge her for anything she said so long as it was the truth.

"I know that not all journalism is bad. I love reading the articles in _Transfiguration Today,_ but I'm not much of a writer. I think I would much rather supply them with something to write about."

"Are you referring to going into research?"

"You were the one who told me once that there's still so much we don't know about how magic works, Professor," Minerva reminded him. "Like in Transfiguration, we understand the underlying basic principles and formulas, but with every Transfiguration there's this unknown quantity. If we could just identify it…"

She had trailed off and Professor Dumbledore nodded. "That would be fascinating, indeed."

Minerva frowned. "But you don't think I could do it?"

"I think anyone who has been privy to your performance in your Transfiguration classes these past five years would be hard-pressed to find a reason why you shouldn't be capable of furthering the field. And playing to one's strengths is certainly a prudent course of action," Dumbledore said. "I am merely curious if you have stopped to consider your other strengths?"

"You mean like… Quidditch, sir?"

Dumbledore looked at her impassively. "Do you wish to become a professional Quidditch player?"

"Uh, no?"

"Well, that's another thing crossed off then," he said cheerfully. "Surely, that's not the only strength you can think of?"

The harder Minerva tried to think, the more she heard Junior's voice echo inside her head. _Teacher's pet, teacher's pet, teacher's pet…_ "I'm… smart."

Her Head of House chuckled. "Rather."

"I have strong opinions."

"I'd say so."

"And I can't keep my mouth shut when I see things I don't like."

"And why's that?"

"Because I know they could be different."

"Mhmm."

Minerva waited for Dumbledore to say more than that, but he seemed content with watching a bird outside the window.

"Professor, how exactly did you get to be on the Wizengamot?" she asked eventually.

"Oh, I was chosen as their British Youth Representative and then I just stuck around and wore them down until they bumped me up to Chief Warlock."

"But you've never officially worked for the Ministry?"

"I have not."

When Minerva fell silent, Dumbledore looked intently at her again. "But my choices, I'm sure, are completely irrelevant in this discussion regarding your future."

"I know you said you couldn't tell me why you didn't want to be Minister for Magic, but I figured it must have had something to do with the Ministry, so I was just wondering…"

"I thought we had just both agreed that you're used to forming your own opinions independent of anyone else's," Dumbledore cut her off, which was something he almost never did. "I would strongly urge you to use the same approach here."

Minerva understood what he was saying. Still, she said, "But since you have so much more experience than me, I just thought your opinion…"

"My opinion, insofar as it is pertinent to this conversation, is that any department, with the exception perhaps of the horoscope section on the WWN, would be very lucky to have you," Dumbledore said, and his words had the same effect on Minerva as if he had just used a Levitation Charm.

Feeling light and sitting up straighter, she said, "The Department of Magical Law Enforcement, sir. I thought I might like to join the Magical Law Enforcement Squad." If she got to stop one wizard from hurting Muggles for sport, she would feel like she had done some good in this world.

Professor Dumbledore reached for a pamphlet that curiously sat right on top of all the rest of them. "They ask for a minimum of five N.E.W.T.s, which you should have no difficulty obtaining. They also prefer their applicants not to be of a nervous disposition, which we can also rule out in your case. And they offer a starting salary of 700 Galleons a month, a Ministry of Magic broomstick and a regular bed in St. Mungo's. I've never been quite sure if that part is supposed to be reassuring or if it's a bit of a joke. Perhaps you'll be able to tell me."

"And would that be very different from the requirements for joining the Wizengamot Administration Services?" Minerva asked.

"I daresay they're not offering beds in St. Mungo's," Dumbledore joked. "But no, they just want one of those five N.E.W.T.s to be in Ancient Runes and they'd like their applicants to speak at least one other language."

Minerva's eyes widened. "I'd have to learn another language?"

"Not if you wish to join the Magical Law Enforcement Squad."

"But I might like to keep my options open and branch out into wizarding law…" Minerva said thoughtfully.

"Well, Professor Oldroyd has been known to teach a workshop on Gobbledegook when there was enough interest from N.E.W.T. students," Dumbledore said.

"Could you tell him I'm interested, Professor?"

Dumbledore smiled softly. "Anything else you're interested in?"

"I wouldn't mind if you were to tell me what exactly we'll be tested on in our O.W.L.s," Minerva joked half-heartedly. After all, discussing her future career would be completely pointless if she failed in her upcoming exams.

"I think 'no cheating' is a requirement for both the Magical Law Enforcement Squad and the Wizengamot offices," Dumbledore replied lightly.

"I figured." Minerva sighed. "Were you nervous, sir? Before you took your O.W.L.s?"

"I might have been. Then again, I was rather full of myself at the time."

Not sure if she was supposed to laugh about that or not, Minerva hedged, "If you were, uh, full of yourself, I'm sure you had every right to be, Professor."

"It doesn't make for an altogether pleasant disposition, but it is certainly a great antidote for exam nerves," he nodded.

"I could use some of that," Minerva muttered.

"I very much doubt that you have any more reason to worry than my fifteen-year-old self had."

"I hope you're right, sir."

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair. "Well, there you go then, because I usually am." He paused. "Oh dear, I guess I'm still rather full of myself, aren't I?"

This time Minerva couldn't help herself and started laughing, which, she later suspected, had been the whole point.

* * *

"Five points from Gryffindor."

"For what?"

"For breathing too loud."

"What? You can't take points from me for _breathing!"_

"Yes, I can when you do it so loudly that it's messing with my concentration."

"If you ask me, it's not your concentration that's messed up right now."

"Is that your clever way of telling me that you think I'm crazy?"

"I was thinking barking mad, but sure, let's go with that."

"Well, you try studying for ten O.W.L.s all at once!"

"Oh, yes, must be hard trying not to get an 'E' while other people might be looking at a 'P'!"

One week before their first O.W.L. exam, tensions were running high and conversation in the fifth-years' girls' dormitory had become a little testy. But that last complaint from Augusta brought Minerva up short.

"You're not actually worried that you're going to fail?" she asked, astonished. If you were hoping for a career at the Ministry, getting an 'Acceptable' O.W.L., which would not qualify you for continuing to N.E.W.T. level in many subjects, was quite the same as failing. Still, it was a different story not to get an O.W.L. in the first place, not even an 'A'.

Augusta snorted. "Well, I haven't made anything vanish yet, have I? Not completely anyway."

"But then you should have come to the study group!" Minerva said, exasperated.

"Too late now, ain't it?"

Unfortunately, Augusta was right. It was terrifying how quickly they were running out of time. Even though Minerva went nowhere without her books and her notes, not even when she was patrolling corridors during prefect duty, she felt like the exams were coming at her way too fast. And now, she had to add coaching Augusta so she wouldn't fail her Transfiguration O.W.L. to her list of things to do, which was endless and rather insurmountable.

For a few days, Minerva solved the problem by asking Professor Slughorn if she could use the Potions classroom after hours for some extra practice.

"Want to make sure you get that Outstanding O.W.L. in Potions, eh? Well, it's all yours, my dear girl," Slughorn said with that booming laugh of his.

Minerva thanked him, waited until he was gone and then mixed a whole cauldron full of Wideye Potion. It prevented the drinker from falling asleep and thus allowed Minerva to study all through the night, so she could help Augusta and then do her own revision. That worked like a charm (or, in this case, a potion) until she got so jittery that she couldn't sit still in class anymore. And then in Transfiguration she suddenly failed to make the kitten on her desk vanish and almost started hyperventilating until she realised that she had been swinging her quill rather than her wand.

That's when Professor Dumbledore noticed and confiscated the rest of her potion, looking none too pleased. But he couldn't punish her because while taking potions like that during the exams was forbidden, taking them to study for the exams was not (Minerva had checked. Twice). Also, Professor Slughorn had explicitly given her permission to use the Potions classroom and all the ingredients in the store cupboard.

Anyway, Minerva felt like she was being punished enough because when the effects of the Wideye Potion wore off, she slept twenty hours straight.

When she woke up again, their O.W.L. examiners had already arrived in the castle. Soon followed by their very first examination. And once the O.W.L.s had started, they passed in one giant blur. Two weeks of sitting one theoretical exam in the mornings, one practical exam in the afternoon and either sleepwalking or last minute studying in between.

And then, just as suddenly, it was all over. Weirdly, Minerva hated that even more. Because now she had to wait for her results and no one seemed able to tell her for how long she would have to wait.

They had one week left before the official end of term and Minerva made sure to accidentally run into Professor Dumbledore as often as possible, but their conversations got shorter every day.

"Professor, are you sure you couldn't at least let me know how it went overall?"

"Even if I wanted to, I really couldn't. The examiners have yet to submit their findings."

"But surely, you must know something about how the Transfiguration O.W.L.s turned out?"

"What I know is that you ought not to worry."

Easy for him to say. The next day, she barely even got to open her mouth.

"Professor, …"

"My answer is exactly the same today as it was yesterday."

And the day after that, she hadn't even reached Professor Dumbledore yet when he said,

"Please don't force me to treat you like a child, Minerva."

"So, no means no?" she translated that.

"Indeed."

Every bit as frustrated, Minerva turned around and walked back towards Gryffindor Tower. On her way, she passed Professor Marchbanks, one of the elder examiners, in the corridor. The examiners were still in the castle because the N.E.W.T.s weren't finished yet, and those results took precedence over the O.W.L.s. Funnily enough, Professor Marchbanks now looked a little exhausted herself.

"Bless you," Minerva said when Professor Marchbanks sneezed, and she turned the only thing she had on her, a scroll of parchment, into a handkerchief to offer it to the older witch.

"Thank you, thank you," Professor Marchbanks mumbled as she accepted the handkerchief. "Oh, it's you," she added when she actually looked up at Minerva for the first time.

Not quite sure what that was supposed to mean, Minerva took a step back. "I'm sorry?"

"I recognise you from your Transfiguration exam," Professor Marchbanks explained brightly. "Nice work you did there, and I knew right away who had taught you. I had only seen that kind of wand work in a Transfiguration examination once before."

Putting two and two together, Minerva's eyes widened. "You examined Professor Dumbledore?"

"Oh yes, and never will I forget it," Professor Marchbanks nodded, taking a moment to reminisce, seeing something in her mind's eye that must have impressed her greatly. "But you keep at it, my dear. I have a feeling you could give him a run for his money."

Laughing, Professor Marchbanks continued on her way and Minerva went home at the end of the week, still feeling every bit as anxious about getting her results but also a lot more excited.

* * *

Two weeks into the summer holidays, Malcolm suddenly yelled through the house, "They're coming! They're coming!"

Which would have sounded rather ominous, except the entire McGonagall family knew who 'they' was referring to. Owls. Malcolm and Minerva had taken turns looking out the window at every chance they got, while Junior had laughed his head off. He had fooled each of them at least once by pretending that he had spotted an owl heading for the house.

This time, there was no mistaking it for a prank, though, as they all gathered in the sitting room. Four large barn owls were slowly, painfully slowly in fact, making their way towards the window Minerva's mother had thrown open.

"Four? Why are there four of them?" her father wondered. Even now that everyone in the village had long since accepted that their reverend had a thing for owls, he still cringed when they arrived carrying large letters like that in daylight. Today there were indeed four of them at the same time.

They soared through the open window one after the other. The first two headed for Robert and Malcolm, who squealed in delight. He had waited for his Hogwarts acceptance letter every bit as anxiously as Minerva had waited for her O.W.L. results, perhaps even more so. As the youngest in the family, he had grown tired of not being included in Minerva's and Junior's stories and accomplishments. Now, he ripped open his letter like a Christmas present and Minerva smiled broadly as she watched. She was happy for him and she hoped he would have an easier time settling in at Hogwarts than Junior. Surely, the teachers would have gotten over their Minerva-induced bias by now.

Her smile faltered, however, when the remaining two owls landed next to her. It was time. Suddenly feeling slightly nauseated, she opened the smaller, unmarked letter first. It was merely a small piece of parchment and it contained only one sentence.

"_I believe I tried to tell you that there was no cause for concern."_

Confused, Minerva turned over the parchment, looking for more, but there was nothing. Which left the second official, very thick letter.

And there it was. Her book lists and start-of-term information and:

ORDINARY WIZARDING LEVEL RESULTS

Minerva McGonagall has achieved:

Arithmancy: Outstanding

Astronomy: Outstanding

Charms: Outstanding

Defence Against the Dark Arts: Outstanding

Herbology: Outstanding

History of Magic: Outstanding

Muggle Studies: Outstanding

Potions: Outstanding

Study of Ancient Runes: Outstanding

Transfiguration: Outstanding

As her eyes swept over the parchment, Minerva felt her face split into the widest of grins. But only after having read the whole thing for the third time did she burst out laughing.

She had just realised that the other letter was Professor Dumbledore's way of saying 'I told you so'.


	17. Rite of Passage

**A/N: As promised, here's the next little installment.**

* * *

**17\. Rite of Passage**

"You failed Transfiguration?" Minerva gasped when she got her first chance to catch up with Augusta at breakfast on the first day of school. During the train ride yesterday Minerva had been too busy patrolling the hallways of the Hogwarts Express and during the feast she had sat with Junior because they had wanted to welcome Malcolm in Gryffindor together.

"No, I got an 'E' in Transfiguration – thanks to you. I failed Charms," Augusta confessed.

Minerva gaped at her. "Charms? But..."

"I know. I know. You thought it was impossible to fail Charms. So did my parents. But I had a feeling. I made my examiner shoot up right into the ceiling."

"But that was a very powerful Hovering Charm then."

"Yeah, except I was supposed to do a Summoning."

"Oh."

Augusta heaved a sigh. "Yeah, it was our first practical exam. I was just too nervous." She shrugged. "Anyway, I will really enjoy all the free periods this year."

"Those are really more like study periods, though," Minerva cautioned her.

"For people like you perhaps who have a gazillion subjects and happen to be prefect and… are you Quidditch captain, too, now?" For the first time this morning, Augusta seemed to inspect Minerva's robes properly, looking for – and finding – an additional badge next to her familiar prefect badge.

"I am, actually," Minerva replied, trying not to grin too broadly.

She had been completely focused on her O.W.L. results and had almost missed the captain's badge that had come with her regular school letter. But once she had, it had been the icing on the cake. She already had a gazillion new strategies in mind that she wanted to try with the team this year, but she couldn't share them with Augusta just yet because Professor Dumbledore had begun to hand out timetables.

"Hello, Professor," she said once he had reached her. "Thanks for your letter this summer. I'll try to listen next time."

"Glad to hear it," Dumbledore replied cheerfully. "Unfortunately, I have not received any letter from you in return, detailing which subjects you would like to continue this year."

"I know. I was still thinking about it and I have decided to drop Transfiguration," Minerva said.

Professor Dumbledore's wand paused, hovering over the as of yet empty timetable in his hand, until Minerva giggled.

"Sorry, just kidding, Professor."

Dumbledore eyed her over his glasses. "You seem to be in a fine mood this morning."

"I am, Professor." She knew she shouldn't let her O.W.L. results go to her head, but it was hard not to.

"While I'm glad to find you in such high spirits, your N.E.W.T. education is no laughing matter," Dumbledore reminded her. "And as I've told you previously, you cannot continue with all of your O.W.L. subjects."

"Is that because you don't think I could manage it or because you can't fit it all in that timetable?" Minerva asked cheekily.

The corner of Professor Dumbledore's mouth twitched. "Let's say we would both be faced with certain challenges."

"That's all right, Professor. I've decided not to continue with Astronomy."

Dumbledore nodded. "And?"

Minerva sighed. "And Muggle Studies." That one hurt a bit more, but there was not a single job in the entire wizarding community that asked for a N.E.W.T. in Muggle Studies. They barely expected you to have scraped an O.W.L.

"And?" Dumbledore asked once more without commenting on her choice.

"That's it," Minerva replied.

His blue eyes met her green ones in silent contemplation. Minerva knew he wanted her to whittle it down to seven N.E.W.T.s, and she had thought about dropping History of Magic, but she couldn't do it. If there was still more to learn about her own history, then it seemed ignorant, perhaps even arrogant, to turn her back on it.

In the end, Professor Dumbledore sighed, tapped her timetable with his wand and handed it to her.

Minerva took it, feeling victorious.

* * *

On the morning of October 4th Minerva was woken up by a bear hug from Augusta. Or perhaps, being Rugby tackled would have been a more accurate description.

"Happy Birthday! Blimey, you're already of age! I'm so jealous!"

"Thank you. Still need to breathe, though," Minerva managed to respond.

Augusta, who had pushed her deep into her pillows and scattered most of the presents on her bed, jumped backwards with a sheepish grin. "Sorry. I'm just excited for you. And me."

"Why are you excited for you?" Minerva asked, finally sitting up in bed.

"Because now you can buy Firewhisky for us next time we're at the Three Broomsticks."

Minerva snorted. But she decided not to destroy Augusta's hope that she'd be benefiting from her turning seventeen. She accepted Drew's and Allison's congratulations and then collected her presents.

There were a lot more than usual, but nothing from her parents as Minerva would meet with them later in Hogsmeade. Luckily, today was a Saturday, and while it wasn't an official Hogsmeade weekend, Minerva had gotten special permission from Professor Dumbledore to go and see them.

Just when she was done unwrapping all her gifts and Augusta, Drew and Allison had left the dormitory to go to the bathroom, there was a sudden flash of flame above her bed that almost made Minerva fall off it in shock. But the flame disappeared as quickly as it had appeared and it left behind a single golden feather that floated gently onto her pillow.

Her mouth hanging open, Minerva picked up the phoenix feather and gently ran her fingers over it. It was soft and still warm to the touch. There was a tiny scroll of parchment attached to it that read 'Many happy returns' in a familiar, narrow handwriting.

Grinning, Minerva placed the feather on her bedside table, but then thought better of it and safely stored it away in her trunk. Even if she hadn't been aware of the magical value of a phoenix feather, she would have felt as if it was worth more than all of her remaining gifts together.

Feeling elated and perhaps a little distracted, Minerva left Gryffindor Tower a few hours later and walked straight into Professor Slughorn.

"Ah, there she is, the Birthday Girl! I've been meaning to talk to you!" he boomed. "Let us drink to your health!"

"Thank you, Professor, but I'm meeting my…"

But Slughorn wouldn't listen. He grabbed her by the arm and shoved her into his study without any concern for her other appointments or for her free will, for that matter.

And so Minerva sat in a puffy chair and accepted a goblet with mead.

"Now, we were all very impressed by your O.W.L.s, though I wasn't surprised, of course. Not in the least. I told Albus... I told him the kind of exam you are likely to fail hasn't even been invented yet." Slughorn laughed, presenting Minerva with the only downside to her O.W.L. success. She had already suspected that he would be even more interested in her now than he had already been previously.

"Still, ten Outstanding O.W.L.s, that's… well, outstanding!" He continued, chortling. "You're going places, my dear girl, oh yes! I would even say, alas, you might be going all the way."

Minerva was still wondering what 'all the way' meant exactly and whether she really wanted to know when Slughorn suddenly leaned in closer.

"At least, you could be. It's all about who you know, you see. Talking to the right people. I can help you there. I know you'll have talked to Albus about your career choices, but who knows what he told you. He can be a little… peculiar. Anyway, I'd be more than willing to give you my advice, even though I wasn't lucky enough to become your Head of House."

"Professor Dumbledore gave me great advice," Minerva said stiffly.

"Oh, but of course he did. Only when it comes to connections… well, he's burning bridges left and right, isn't he? Now, I suspect you have your sights set on the Ministry?"

"Um…" She was glad that Professor Dumbledore hadn't shared the contents of their career advice meeting with Slughorn. But the fact that he had guessed as much all the same, made Minerva even more reluctant to admit it than she had with Dumbledore. "Well, I thought the Department of Magical Law Enforcement…"

"Of course!" Slughorn cut her off. "Brilliant. A perfect fit. And I'm good friends with Bob Ogden. I'm sure he'd love to meet you. I'll ask him to come to a Slug party and you two can talk!"

Minerva knew that Professor Slughorn had a point. The right connections could be very valuable, and there was no harm in talking to someone who had worked at the Ministry. She would actually like to ask them some more specific questions about the work there. But as far as getting a job was concerned, she really wanted to get in on her own merits.

She also didn't want to argue about that with her Potions master, especially not on her birthday, so Minerva stood and said, "I'm sorry, Professor, but I really have to go. I'm late for meeting my parents in Hogsmeade."

"You're in high demand already, I see," Slughorn nodded as if she hadn't already told him that earlier. "We'll pick this up later then."

Hoping that 'later' wouldn't come for a while, Minerva hurried down the path into Hogsmeade and when she spotted her parents, she ran straight into their waiting arms. After talking to Professor Slughorn about her future career and listening to Augusta listing all the things she was allowed to do now, it was slowly beginning to dawn on her. What this day truly meant. So Minerva figured she should hug her parents while she still felt like she could.

When she stepped back again, she noticed that her father looked a little green. "Are you all right, Papa?"

"He didn't much like travelling via the Floo Network for the first time," her mother explained, looking more amused than sympathetic.

"Right," said Minerva. "Sorry, Papa."

"It's fine. It's well worth seeing you on your big day," he replied, and the fact that he seemed to have accepted her coming of age now rather than in a year when she'd be eighteen made her even happier.

"Also, I keep telling him that travelling by Floo powder actually feels a lot less like suffocating than portkeys or Apparating," her mother added.

Her father shook his head. "Honestly, it's no wonder our neighbours don't know that magic actually exists because no one in their right mind would think to crawl into a fireplace as a way of travelling."

"You mean, other than Santa Claus?" Minerva countered.

They looked at each other and laughed all the way to the Three Broomsticks. Once they were seated, both of her parents set a present on the table and slid it towards her – one small and one big.

"I've been told this is a wizarding tradition, but I took the liberty of exchanging it with something that once belonged to your grandmother," Robert McGonagall explained, pointing at the small package. "Not the one you were named after, but my mother."

Minerva unwrapped it and found a slim, golden wristwatch. Different from the watches one could buy in Diagon Alley that usually offered a variety of magical features. This was a perfectly ordinary Muggle watch, except it was clearly an antique and when Minerva turned it over, she found that the name 'McGonagall' had been engraved in the back.

"It's beautiful." Minerva put it on and smiled broadly.

So did her father. "I hoped you'd prefer a family heirloom to one that was magical."

"I love it. Only…" Minerva pulled out her wand and gently tapped the watch with it, muttering, "Impervius! Delerio! Protego!" When she saw the look on her father's face, she quickly switched to nonverbal spells and then put her wand away again.

"So much for it not being magical, I suppose," Robert said.

"Oh no, those were just protection spells, so it won't crack, get wet or stolen."

"I see."

There was a bit of a pause that her mother Isobel filled by pushing the bigger present towards her. "And now the one you really wanted."

Curious, Minerva ripped open this second package and her eyes lit up when she found a recently published book series that dealt exclusively with particularly advanced aspects of Transfiguration magic.

"Told you we should have given her those later. Now she'll want us to leave so she can start reading," her father teased.

"Of course not!" Minerva protested. But part of her kind of did.

"Well, one way or another we'll have to get used to her not needing us anymore," Isobel said.

"At least, that means that we can redecorate her room."

"Yes, you always wanted your own study…"

Minerva knew that her parents were only joking, but she could feel a bit of bitterness joining the overall sweetness of the day. She tried to keep it to herself, though, as they talked about how her classes were going and how her brothers, especially Malcolm, were doing. Isobel also asked for a detailed report on the Quidditch tryouts Minerva had held a week ago and the two new players she had chosen for the Gryffindor team.

Eventually, they got ready to leave and Minerva and her mother waited at their table while her father went to the bathroom.

"Are you all right? You've been a little quiet," Isobel noticed.

"It's funny," Minerva said after pondering her answer for a moment. "These past few years I've felt like I had two homes. One with you and Papa and Robert and Malcolm, and one here at Hogwarts. And now it feels like I'll lose both soon."

Isobel smiled softly. "Darling, your father and I were only kidding earlier. You'll always have a home with us. But I don't think you'll want to. Once you're settled at the Ministry or wherever you'll choose to work, you won't want to bother with your poor old parents."

"Of course, I will," Minerva said, shaking her head. "Especially… well… how are you and Papa doing with Robert, Malcolm and me all out of the house?"

"Minerva, you don't have to worry about your father and me. You have more than enough to worry about with what you've got going on at school."

"Well, it's a little late for that," Minerva muttered.

"What do you mean?"

"I've always worried about you and about what was going on at home without me. Even in my very first week at Hogwarts…" It seemed like a lifetime ago, but she still remembered it like it was yesterday. "I even had a bit of a meltdown right in front of Professor Dumbledore."

Isobel's eyebrows shot up. "What? But I thought your first week went great. That's what you told us."

"Because it was great. Except that I was scared to death that you might resent me for it." Minerva had no idea what made her admit it. That thought had been with her for so long, perhaps she felt that if she didn't say it now, on the day she started her life as an adult, she would never do it.

Her mother stared at her as if she had been hit with a Stunning Spell. "That's not true. Tell me that's not true."

Unnerved by the look in her mother's eyes, Minerva said, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything."

Isobel stood so abruptly that her chair almost toppled over. Then she swiftly rounded the table, clasped Minerva's hands and pulled her up from her chair as well. "Minerva, I love your brothers with all my heart, but you, you are my pride and joy. You have been since the minute you were born. I knew you were special. All mothers say that, of course. But you were only a couple of hours old when you made your toys fly across the room into your cot. And yes, that made things complicated between your father and me for a bit, but never between you and me. Those were my choices, not yours.

And if I was a little envious of you going off to Hogwarts, then because I knew that you'd have such a great time there. Though not even I could have foreseen what you have achieved so far. I can only hope that you'll have a daughter one day because only then will you be fully able to understand that what I want for you, what I've always wanted for you, is for you to have everything."

Now it was Minerva who could only stare at her mother for a moment, and then they both moved at the same time to step into each other's arms for a hug that was a lot more tearful than Minerva was prepared to admit.

When her father returned from the bathroom, the mood change caught him completely by surprise, but he seemed to deduce quickly that this was something his wife and daughter had worked out between the two of them.

And they all brightened up significantly when they stopped at Honeydukes next and Minerva and Isobel introduced Robert to the wonderfully weird world of wizarding sweets. Isobel bought some Sugar Quills for her husband to suck on while he was writing his sermons and Robert took a couple of Fizzing Whizzbees because he thought they sounded funny. Minerva seriously suspected that he wasn't aware that eating them would actually make him float a few inches off the ground. In the meantime, she bought some toffee eclairs.

"But you don't even like toffee," her mother pointed out suspiciously.

"Perhaps I like it now that I'm of age," she replied and pocketed them quickly.

After they had also visited the Post Office and Zonko's Joke Shop (Robert looked more than a little troubled at the idea that his sons might go shopping there), it was getting late and so it was time for Minerva to get back.

"We would walk up to the castle with you, but with the Anti-Muggle Protection Spells…" Her mother trailed off, but they all understood.

Her father wouldn't be able to approach the castle, most likely, he wouldn't even see it in the first place. He might forget why he was here or get confused in other ways. Now that Minerva saw the look on her father's face and thought about the indignity of it all, anger and embarrassment boiled in the pit of her stomach. Hogwarts was her second home and yet one of the most important people in her life wasn't welcome anywhere near it.

When she thus hesitated to leave, Robert reached out to straighten Minerva's glasses – something he used to do when she was a little girl and her glasses would slip too far down her nose. "Time to go and be brilliant," he said, letting her know that it was okay.

And Minerva knew it would be.


	18. Boundaries

**A/N: I had some time over Easter, so here's the next chapter!**

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**18\. Boundaries**

Albus had just pocketed a pumpkin pastry for Fawkes – as these were really the only reason he was still attending Horace's Slug Club parties – when Horace himself appeared next to him.

"Have you seen Minerva anywhere?" he asked.

Unaware that Horace was on a first-name basis with her, Albus replied rather succinctly, "I have not."

"Oh, well, I guess I'll have to keep looking then. I set up a meeting with Bob Ogden for her and she's usually so punctual," Horace muttered distractedly, already craning his neck to scan his party crowd.

"A meeting?" Albus asked, arching an eyebrow. "Surely, you know that it is not in your purview to..."

"Relax, Albus, there's no rule against two people having a chat at a party," Horace waved him off. "Not everyone is as averse to making contacts as you are. Blimey, I hope you didn't pass that on to her."

With that rather rude observation, Horace moved on.

Meanwhile, Albus surveyed the room with a renewed interest. His eyes landed on a girl, or young woman as he should say by now, who was sitting in a fairly well-hidden corner by the window, gazing into the night. She had strikingly blond, curly hair and a remarkably straight nose and looked unfamiliar at first glance, which wouldn't have been anything unusual at a Slug party. As Horace loved to spin his little web of contacts and connections, he regularly invited guests from outside of Hogwarts, preferably people he had once taught and 'collected' himself.

However, the young woman by the window didn't look old enough to have graduated already. Also, she was wearing familiar square-shaped glasses.

With a soft shake of his head, Albus chuckled. The sixth-years in his N.E.W.T. class had started working on Human Transfigurations mere months ago, which, considering the complexity and required level of skill, was not a lot of time. And yet, here he saw it very cleverly made use of with apparent ease and a certain amount of bravado. This really should no longer surprise him, but it was still remarkable.

Making sure that Horace was nowhere near him, Albus drifted over to that window. "Fancy seeing you here this evening, Minerva," he said.

She jumped in surprise, causing her hair to fall into her face. Its newly golden colour and curly texture still seemed unfamiliar to her and she cringed. "How did you know it was me?" she asked sharply.

Luckily, Albus knew that she wasn't criticising him. She was merely upset to have detected a flaw in her own performance. "I told you, magic always leaves a trace," Albus replied. "Also, your glasses."

"Right, I didn't know what to do with them. I didn't want to mess up the prescription," she acknowledged with a sigh.

"I must say I'm glad you didn't. It would be a terrible shame were you to disappear completely," he told her.

Perched on the windowsill, Minerva fidgeted a little. "I'm sorry. I know we're not supposed to experiment outside of class."

"I don't think what you have done can accurately be described as 'experimenting'," Albus hedged. "I almost feel as if I should award Gryffindor points for it."

"I wouldn't mind, Professor," she said quickly and they exchanged a smile based on their mutual interest in the success of their house.

Albus leaned against the window. "First, would you like to enlighten me as to what you hoped to accomplish by attending this party in this rather clever disguise?"

She didn't respond right away, taking some time to think about her answer. "I couldn't decide if I wanted Professor Slughorn to introduce me to someone he knows from the Ministry. So now I'm here and at the same time I'm not. I know he's looking for me. He already walked past me twice."

Not surprised to hear her say that, Albus gave a little sigh. "I hope you are aware that you are under no obligation to fulfil Professor Slughorn's expectations in this matter?"

"Have you tried telling him no? Sir?" She gave him a dubious look.

"I... see your point," Albus conceded.

"The thing is I actually want to talk to Mr. Ogden. I have questions," Minerva held up a scroll of parchment and Albus could see that it was filled from top to bottom with her neat handwriting.

He suppressed a smirk. He hoped for Mr. Ogden's sake that he had the answers to those questions. "Then what is stopping you, other than the fascinating view out of this window?"

"What if I talk to him and he likes me and then if I were to get a job at the Ministry, I'd always have to wonder if it's only because Professor Slughorn took a liking to me?" she asked, honestly chagrined.

If this hadn't weighed so heavily on her, it would have been rather comical. The fact that Horace was so fond of her (or at least of the potential he saw in her), and yet, the two of them couldn't have been more fundamentally different. Albus wished Horace could see her now and understand that she was the only one who deserved credit for all that integrity and virtue inside of her. He, Albus, had had nothing to do with it. Or, perhaps, only marginally so. Sadly, Horace wouldn't see these qualities in quite the same light as Albus did.

"While I know that Professor Slughorn likes to think differently, he doesn't have that kind of pull at the Ministry," Albus assured her. "However, if someone at the Ministry were to think favourably of you after your conversation with Mr. Ogden tonight, then that would still be very much your accomplishment."

"Only facilitated by Professor Slughorn," she argued. "I'd have to send him a Christmas present for the rest of my life. He already told me that Bungbarrel Spiced Mead is his favourite."

"Is that so? Then I suppose I have been sending him the wrong one all these years. That, actually, rather explains a lot."

Minerva's laughter rang out, soft and pure, and it seemed to fill her with renewed certainty. "You think I should talk to him then? Sir?"

This was the second time she had almost forgotten to address him properly, but then again, they were at a party after all. "I think I have never known you to walk away from a challenge," Albus replied.

"Right." She slid off the windowsill and straightened her dress. "Uh, would you mind turning my hair back, Professor? Changing it back is still a little tricky and I really don't want to stay a blonde!"

This would have made for an excellent teaching moment, but as Horace had sort of forced her into this position, Albus decided it was all right for him to help her get out of it. So he reached for his wand and did as she had asked.

"Would you also like me to fix your nose?"

Quickly covering it with her hands, Minerva said, "Oh, um, I thought I might keep it for a while. It turned out a lot better than I thought it would."

"But it is not your nose," Albus pointed out patiently.

"Oh, all right," she said, lowering her hands.

Once her appearance was completely back to normal, Albus gave her a nod and smiled to himself when she didn't simply trust his word but checked her reflection in the window.

Apparently satisfied, she squared her shoulders and marched off after offering him a grateful little smile.

Albus watched her go and under the circumstances he decided that he did not feel bad pocketing another pumpkin pastry.

* * *

It was late. Really late. As in past curfew kind of late.

But she was a prefect and so she wouldn't get into serious trouble for another hour or so. Also, almost all the teachers loved her, so she'd need to have the great misfortune of running into Apollyon Pringle, who most certainly didn't. And the feeling was mutual. Actually, she would rather enjoy running into him as long as she was allowed to tell him exactly how...

No, Minerva mentally chided herself. She shouldn't be thinking like that. Not even about the caretaker. That was only the excitement in her talking. The anticipation.

She'd had an idea. A thought. A plan. A need to act, and to do it now.

It had come to her completely out of the blue after she had fallen asleep on top of the books her parents had given her for her birthday. But it seemed to have sprung out of some dark corner of her mind fully formed. As if it had really always been there, merely biding its time. As if it had always known that she would eventually be brave enough to see the truth.

That she was meant to do this.

All right, maybe she was riding on a high and had done so ever since she had returned from the summer holidays with ten O.W.L.s in her pocket and not one but two shiny badges pinned to the front of her robes. But perhaps, that was exactly what had given her the push she had needed.

For now, Minerva skidded to a stop outside Professor Dumbledore's study and knocked. Somehow she knew with absolute certainty that he would still be awake. And indeed, when he told her to enter, she found him sitting behind his desk, looking at her with an expression of mild surprise.

"Minerva. To what do I owe this very late pleasure?" he asked.

She took a step closer, but she was too excited to sit right now so she remained standing. She also didn't try to beat around the bush. "I want to become an Animagus."

Professor Dumbledore's face was completely unreadable. "I beg your pardon?"

Impatiently, Minerva rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet. She knew Dumbledore sometimes liked to pretend that he was clueless when in truth he was always the first in any given situation to grasp what was going on. He had probably gotten used to giving others time to arrive at the same conclusions that he, being a genius, had already drawn. It was certainly a brilliant way of teaching.

But Minerva wasn't a first-year anymore. She wasn't clueless, and neither was Dumbledore. And she didn't have the necessary patience right now to pretend otherwise.

"I want you to teach me to become an Animagus," she repeated and somewhat belatedly she added, "Sir."

She had just realised that she should have also gone with 'please' when Professor Dumbledore opened his mouth to respond.

"No."

"No?" Minerva echoed, dumbfounded. Nowhere in her brilliant plan had that word factored in.

"I believe we discussed the meaning of that answer at the end of last term and you promised to listen next time." Professor Dumbledore sounded weary, and by now Minerva knew that the absence of humour in his voice was never a good sign.

She hated to eat her own words, but this simply wouldn't do. "But why not?" she asked.

"I am not in the habit of explaining myself, certainly not at such a late hour," Professor Dumbledore tried to brush her off.

That might have worked when Minerva was younger, but not anymore. "That's not true, sir. Every reasonable question deserves a reasonable answer. You've always said that." She knew she needed to do as Dumbledore always did. Express her assuredness that she was right by remaining exceedingly calm. It wasn't something that came easily to her, unfortunately.

But Minerva could tell that it was working by the mix of exasperation and acknowledgement in Professor Dumbledore's eyes. "Very well. The process of becoming an Animagus is long and arduous. Given your desire to achieve top marks in all eight of your N.E.W.T. classes, to continue to serve this school as a prefect and ideally win the Quidditch Cup for Gryffindor, I do not believe that to attempt that process would be wise or even possible."

Overcoming some of her shock at Professor Dumbledore's instant refusal, Minerva was beginning to feel more confident again. She had expected that argument. "I know it's a lot, but I'm not fourteen anymore. I know how to handle it now. I can schedule Quidditch practice at my leisure. It's once or twice a week, same as the prefect rotation for patrolling the corridors, and I can do my homework before or after, which leaves at least one night a week plus the weekend for further study."

"I see you have automatically assumed that my weekends are also free and readily available to be made use of in order to help you achieve your goals?" Dumbledore pointed out a flaw in her plan. Admittedly, Minerva hadn't really considered his time and availability in all of this.

"Um, no, I mean, it doesn't have to be weekends…"

"Regardless of my willingness to commit time and effort to your pursuit, there is another more important argument," Professor Dumbledore continued. "Attempting to become an Animagus is not only extremely difficult, it is also even more dangerous. It requires a level of patience, sense of self and courage that you have yet to imagine and that goes beyond what most witches and wizards are able to endure. It is thus known to have ended in disaster more often than it has led to success."

Minerva knew that her Head of House thought this was the biggest counterargument, but honestly, the thought that she might fail a class because of the distraction this would be scared her more than any talk of danger. She had a healthy respect of the process, but there was no fear.

"I know. I've read everything I could find about it. I'm not afraid," she said.

Surprisingly, that was the wrong answer. "And therein lies the problem because you truly ought to be," Dumbledore said grimly. "We're talking about permanent mutations of the body that neither Madam Hailstone nor I would stand any chance of reversing. To say nothing of the dangers to one's mind."

The deadly seriousness in Professor Dumbledore's voice did not fail to chill her and Minerva was ready to admit that she had come here tonight somewhat too enthusiastic and overly confident. But that didn't change anything about her burning desire and commitment to the idea.

Which seemed to be written all over her face because Professor Dumbledore heaved a sigh. "Why, exactly, is it that you suddenly wish to do this?" he asked.

"Actually, I think I always wanted to, ever since you first told us about it in class, but I knew I wasn't good enough yet. But now that I'm of age and that I'm getting the hang of Human Transfigurations…"

"There is a world of difference between Human Transfigurations and becoming an Animagus."

"I realise that," Minerva nodded. "And that's just it, sir. It's the only branch of Transfiguration magic that I haven't tried yet. The only one I won't ever learn because it's not on the Hogwarts syllabus." She had checked.

"Because none of your classmates could possibly achieve it," Dumbledore said.

Minerva's eyes lit up when she realised how carefully he had phrased that sentence. "But I can. That's what you're saying, isn't it? You know I could do this!"

Professor Dumbledore did not respond.

Hoping that this was her first real opening, Minerva hurried to say, "I know this isn't to be taken on lightly, Professor. And I understand the risks. But I feel like my education wouldn't be complete without at least having tried it. And I also think that those wizards who ended up mutilated didn't know what they were doing. They didn't have the right teacher. I would do everything exactly as you'd tell me to, sir. I trust you."

She had uttered those words in complete confidence, but it felt as if they simply hovered in the empty space between them, unable to bridge the stony silence that still emanated from Professor Dumbledore.

Eventually, he said, "I have told you before that your faith in me is misplaced. I cannot allow you to take on such a vast and unnecessary risk. And that, I'm afraid, is my final word."

At first, Minerva felt nothing but utter confusion. Dumbledore had never refused to teach her before. Not when she had made such a reasonable request. She wasn't ignorant of the risks, but all magic carried risk. She couldn't understand why this was supposedly any different.

And that's when her confusion turned to resentment, bordering on anger. Even though she had only just proclaimed that she wasn't a young girl anymore, some things hadn't changed. She still didn't know how to handle a teacher telling her that there was something she could not do.

"I understand, sir," she said, as calm and collected as possible. "You don't want to teach me. But I'm of age and free to decide if I want to do this. Perhaps Professor Slughorn will be able to help me with the potion."

There was a sudden flash of fury in Professor Dumbledore's eyes that immediately made Minerva regret her words. "Professor Slughorn, while certainly a highly accomplished Potions master, a lot more so than you are, would have no knowledge of the intricacies of this particular process," he informed her sharply.

Having pushed this argument as far as she already had, Minerva saw no other way out of this than by saying, "Then I will work it out on my own."

That's when Professor Dumbledore slowly but deliberately rose out of his chair, his eyes ablaze. As long as Minerva could remember, he had always seemed so very tall and also a little intimidating. In this moment, however, she realised with a jolt that she had grown so much that she was now almost level with him. But of course, she would never be truly level with Albus Dumbledore and his tone said as much when he spoke.

"I regret that I have given you the impression that this is up for debate. Rest assured that I am not kidding about this and that if you were to attempt to become an Animagus without my permission, I would have you expelled."

The silence that followed that warning was absolute.

Minerva couldn't have been more shocked if he had pointed his wand at her and uttered an Unforgivable Curse. "You wouldn't," she barely managed to breathe.

"Oh yes, I would," Dumbledore confirmed coolly. "Because of the two of us, it seems I am the only one who values your life."

No matter how much she had grown and what she had learned about her Head of House, she had always felt protected. From the moment he had gone out of his way to welcome her in Gryffindor. But now Minerva felt as if he had only offered her a hand so he could now put her in her place.

It was beyond anything she had ever thought possible and her rage was all-consuming. And since there was nothing she could do about it, Minerva turned on the spot and stormed out of his office, some of her fiercest beliefs shattered.


	19. Dark and Light

**A/N: Thank you all for the great feedback on the last chapter. Here's the next one. Hope you enjoy. :)**

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**19\. Dark and Light**

In the following weeks, Minerva threw herself into both Quidditch and her schoolwork with all her might – proving to Professor Dumbledore that she was still the extraordinary student she had always been. Even if he no longer seemed to think so.

Which wasn't completely true. In fact, Dumbledore acted as though nothing had changed. No matter how intently Minerva glared at him or how she virtually punched the air every time she raised her hand in class, he called on her with the same soft smile on his lips and generally calm demeanour as always. It was like waging war against someone who was completely unaware that you had declared war on them or, in any case, showed no intentions whatsoever of fighting back. Which, of course, made it rather impossible to fight them at all.

Minerva barely noticed what else was going on around her as she spent another breakfast, picking at her food and staring up at the High Table where Professor Dumbledore was chatting with Professor Sowerby (she was the most powerful witch among the female teachers of Hogwarts, perhaps she would be sympathetic to Minerva's request?).

Robert was just telling Malcolm how much he loved Care of Magical Creatures, even though Malcolm wouldn't need to choose additional subjects for another year. "Look, this is what we did yesterday."

"Uh, you played hangman in class?" Malcolm guessed. Minerva glanced at the scroll of parchment Junior had unrolled and snorted.

"No, we learned about Bowtruckles. We were supposed to draw them," Junior explained indignantly.

"They don't look very scary to me," Malcolm noted. "You said you got to handle lots of dangerous creatures."

Junior quickly rolled up his Bowtruckle drawing. "We do. Just the other day I heard the gamekeeper and his assistant argue about some kind of monster that's shown up in the Forbidden Forest. Apparently, all the other creatures are terrified of it."

"What is it?" Malcolm asked, his eyes wide.

"No one knows, do they? Because no one's seen it yet and lived to tell the tale," Robert said with mock sincerity.

"Will you stop scaring him?" Minerva finally butted in.

"I'm not. I'm just telling it as it is," Robert protested. "And I'll ask Professor Kettleburn if next lesson we can go into the forest and look for it."

"Don't be ridiculous. Students aren't allowed in the forest," Minerva reminded them both, slipping into her prefect voice. "Professor Kettleburn will never agree to it."

Or so she hoped. Minerva didn't really know him, but he did have a reputation for being on probation even more often than he visited the hospital wing.

"Just because your teachers don't agree to things you want to do doesn't mean the same goes for all of us," Robert delivered a perfectly well aimed blow that caused Minerva to fall silent again.

In fact, she was so distracted, she almost missed the announcement that Apparition lessons would be starting soon. But once she had read the sign on the notice board and signed up, Minerva was just as excited as her fellow classmates. Here was another thing into which she could channel all her pent-up anger and energy.

The lessons quickly turned into a race between her and her fellow prefects, Eric Elcoat and Padraig Monahan, as to who would manage to Apparate first. Minerva won. Only she didn't reappear on the mark two feet in front of her, but overshot it by a wide margin and almost crashed right into Professor Dumbledore, who only just managed to step aside. All four Heads of House supervised their Apparition lessons because the instructor from the Ministry couldn't be expected to keep all of the sixth-years in line on his own.

It wasn't that Minerva hadn't listened to him, though.

Destination. Determination. Deliberation.

Unfortunately, all those things led her right to Professor Dumbledore every time.

Funnily enough, that did not change his mind about teaching her to become an Animagus.

Not even when the Ministry instructor assured Minerva that overshooting her mark was nothing to worry about because any Apparition attempt that did not result in Splinching was considered a full success at this stage. Then he launched into a couple of truly horrific stories about students who had splinched themselves in a myriad of ways, and Minerva tried to give Professor Dumbledore a meaningful look. She could have lost an arm or a leg or half of her intestines while trying to Apparate and yet no one seemed to think that should stop her from doing so!

Professor Dumbledore, however, seemed perfectly unaware that she was trying to get his attention. Never mind that she had practically just stomped on his foot.

Thoroughly frustrated, Minerva spent the evening in the library, reading a chapter called 'The Terror of the Twin Heartbeat' in an old tome about Transfiguration history, hoping for a new argument she could make. As the title had already suggested, though, the chapter did little to make the transformation into an Animagus sound less frightening.

Minerva clamped the book shut in annoyance and pushed it back onto the shelf, wincing in pain when she cut her hand on a jagged edge of the shelf. Cursing under her breath, Minerva held up her hand as to not get blood on the books.

"Come over here. You can soak your hand in this."

Surprised, Minerva whirled around and spotted a young girl from Hufflepuff who was sitting at a table by the window. She pointed towards a bowl filled with some kind of blue liquid that stood next to a pile of her schoolbooks.

"You're a first-year, aren't you?" Minerva asked as she slowly approached her table. She thought she remembered the face since she had watched the Sorting closely this year because of Malcolm.

"Yup, but this is still going to help. Cross my heart and hope to die," the girl said with an infectious grin.

Quirking an eyebrow in amusement, Minerva slowly lowered her hand into the bowl. Immediately, the bleeding stopped and the stinging eased. "What is this?" Minerva asked, now both of her eyebrows raised.

"Murtlap Essence," the girl replied. "Great for healing cuts and abrasions. I just used it myself." She lifted her arm and pulled back her sleeve to reveal a dozen cuts and bruises that were in the process of healing.

Minerva's heart skipped a beat when she saw that. "Who did that to you? Did you tell a teacher? Or a prefect? I can help you. You don't have to be afraid."

Bemused, the girl shook her head. "That's awfully kind of you, but this was only Peppers."

"Peppers?" Minerva repeated. She didn't know anyone by that name. "Which house are they in?"

"Hufflepuff, I guess, but only because that's where I'm sleeping. Peppers is a Devil's Snare, you see?"

"You have a Devil's Snare in your dormitory?" Minerva asked, aghast.

"Only a tiny one. He's not dangerous. Just gets a little handsy sometimes if I forget to cut him."

That much was obvious. "I'm sorry, but you really can't keep it in the castle. You should talk to Professor Beery and ask him to move it into one of the greenhouses."

The girl bit her lip. "Yeah, I suppose..." The other girls in her dormitory had probably already told her the same thing.

Even though Minerva couldn't relate, she could tell that this made her sad, so she said, "I'm sure Professor Beery will take excellent care of your plant. And most of the greenhouses are always open, so you can visit it... him... Peppers."

"Good idea. I'll definitely do that," she said, brightening up. "My name's Pomona, by the way. Pomona Sprout."

"Minerva McGonagall."

"There's a Malcolm McGonagall in my Herbology class," said Pomona.

Minerva nodded. "That's my brother."

"Brilliant."

"So, you have a green thumb then, huh?" Minerva noted.

Pomona grinned at her. "What gave it away?"

Glancing over her shoulder, Minerva asked, "You don't happen to have a Mandrake in your trunk by any chance?"

"A Mandrake? No, can't say that I have. Blimey, they're a handful!"

"As opposed to Devil's Snare?" Minerva said dryly.

Pomona giggled. "Oh, okay, yeah. Well, I don't have any. But I could ask Professor Beery..."

"No!" Minerva said quickly, once again looking behind her. "That's all right."

"Are you waiting for someone?" Pomona wondered.

Yes, for Professor Dumbledore to be standing right behind her and kick her out of school because she was inquiring about ingredients for a certain forbidden potion, Minerva thought wryly. "No, but I better get back to my homework. Thanks for this," she said, lifting her hand out of the bowl with Murtlap Essence.

"Thanks for being nice to me," Pomona replied, beaming.

* * *

Next Saturday morning at breakfast, Malcolm plopped down on the bench at the Gryffindor table next to Minerva and said, "Pomona Sprout told me to tell you that the thing you're sorta kinda not officially looking for is in Greenhouse three."

Minerva almost choked on her pumpkin juice and looked up at the staff table in sudden paranoia. But Professor Dumbledore wasn't there. He had left the castle last night for an urgent meeting of the Wizengamot. She knew that because the other Heads of House had talked about it during their Apparition lesson where Dumbledore had already been absent.

So Minerva relaxed again and laughed. That Pomona Sprout was one smart cookie.

Of course, the information she had passed on to her was completely irrelevant to Minerva and she tried to put it out of her mind during Quidditch practice that afternoon. But after practice, when the rest of the team had gone back up to the castle and the grounds were mostly empty, Minerva found herself skulking around the greenhouses. She felt like the proverbial donkey with the carrot dangling right in front of her nose, only that she was very much aware of the stick it was tied to.

"Oi! You there!"

Minerva jumped so badly, she made sparks shoot out of the tip of her wand. She knew it couldn't be Dumbledore because he had never and would never address her with 'You there', but her guilty conscience had still overreacted.

Now, she turned around and looked up in alarm as she saw a giant man who was coming right at her. She quickly recognised him as the gamekeeper's assistant, but it was still a frightening sight. Luckily, he stopped just in time, as he would have run Minerva into the ground otherwise. "Yer a prefect, ain't yeh?"

"I am," Minerva confirmed, though she felt a little less certain than usual.

"Good, 'cause I need yeh to get help..."

Taking in the man's wild hair and dishevelled look with some dirt on his face, Minerva ventured a guess. "Is this about that... that creature that's rumoured to have appeared in the Forbidden Forest?"

"Heard of it then, have yeh? 'Course, yeh have. Well, Professor Kettleburn brough' a Fire Crab in for his N.E.W.T. students an' it go' away. He said it was okay. It should live ou' the rest of i's days in the forest. Only, it was a female, yeh see..."

"What's that got to do with anything?" Minerva snapped, annoyed that there was even prejudice against women when it came to magical creatures.

Except, the gamekeeper seemed to be miles away with his thoughts. "Nothin', 'cept she migh' have run into _him_... "

Minerva had no idea who 'he' was and she felt completely lost in this conversation since she had never even taken Care of Magical Creatures. "What kind of help do you need?" she asked to get back on track.

Relieved, the gamekeeper pulled his mind out of the forest. "I's no' me tha' needs help. Students been tryin' ter sneak into the forest ter see the creature an' we've managed ter stop 'em all. Bu' Ogg's down in the Hog's 'Ead an' I was helpin' out Professor Beery with somethin' an' when I go' back, I found tracks leadin' into the forest."

"You're saying there are students in the forest?" Minerva's eyes widened in concern.

"Must be. Two sets. One bigger, one smaller. I'd have followed 'em, bu' I'm not supposed teh. When it's students, I'm supposed ter get a teacher..."

He scratched his head and Minerva realised that he was still a very young man. It was just hard to tell because he was so abnormally tall. And he was only the assistant gamekeeper, after all, but if the real one was off drinking, that wasn't much use either. But the missing students definitely needed help.

Minerva froze. Two students, he had said. One bigger, one smaller. Robert and Malcolm had walked down to the Quidditch pitch with her earlier to watch, but by the end of practice they had disappeared. She had assumed that they had gotten bored and returned to the castle. But what if they had gone the other way? She only knew about this 'monster' because Robert had told her about it. And he had also said that he wanted to go look for it. Show it to Malcolm. But surely, he couldn't possibly be that stupid...

Fear crashed over her in waves. Why, oh, why, had she never taken Care of Magical Creatures? One bloody subject more wouldn't have killed her. But it just might kill her brothers.

"Go back up to the castle and get... get help!" she said, her voice constricted. She had wanted to say 'get Professor Dumbledore', but he was still miles away in London. "I'll go look for them."

"Wha'?" Startled, the gamekeeper tried to grab her, but Minerva was already running. "Bu' yeh can't go on yer own!"

"Just get help!" Minerva hollered back, sprinted past the little cabin by the forest's edge and then she was swallowed up by the trees.

She found the tracks the gamekeeper had mentioned and followed them for as long as she could, but when the trees thickened, it got too dark and the trail was lost. It didn't help that dusk was beginning to settle. Minerva wasn't sure if she should light her wand. It meant to see, but also to be seen. And Robert and Malcolm had clearly ventured deep into the forest, if these were truly their footsteps.

How could they have been so stupid? So reckless? Or, a small voice added, so fed up with living in her shadow. This was a path Minerva had definitely never taken. Because it was sheer madness! She would have never believed them capable of such lunacy. She would wring their necks if...

If they were still alive.

Minerva shuddered at the thought, too horrifying to dwell on. She needed to find them. She knew some spells that could help, but they would still take time. Time her brothers might not have. There was one other spell – Professor Hawkyard had only mentioned it, never actually demonstrated it for obvious reasons. It was crude, dark even, and placed too much importance on blood. But in this particular case...

She shook back the sleeve of her robes and pointed her wand at her left forearm. _"Diffindo!"_ Minerva hissed as the spell cut her skin and a thin stream of blood began to trickle down her arm. Quickly, she pressed the tip of her wand into the fresh wound and thought, _"Point me!"_

A perfectly round drop of her own blood rose into the air and hovered there, pulsating rapidly. For a wonderful second, Minerva thought it would reverse course and zoom back towards the castle, but then a thin string of reddish light appeared, leading her deeper, deeper into the forest. There was no longer any doubt. Robert and Malcolm were in there and she must follow them.

And so Minerva ran, ducking under low-hanging branches and stumbling over roots thicker than her whole body, and trying to ignore all the odd-looking shapes and shadows that might be nothing or might be something she wouldn't ever want to meet. She didn't know for how long she ran, but her lungs were burning and her breath was ragged when she heard them.

Malcolm yelling and Robert trying to shush him.

Faster even than the mad beating of her heart, Minerva broke through the thicket onto a clearing. She saw her brothers and she saw... something stalking them. Without thinking, Minerva pointed her wand and yelled, "Expulso!"

There was a loud bang and the thing, whatever it had been, was blasted off into the darkness.

Malcolm, clearly scared out of his mind, hurled himself at Minerva and wrapped his arms around her midriff. "Minerva! You're here! You came for us! I want to go back to the castle!"

Robert stayed where he was, but he couldn't hide a glimmer of relief in his eyes either, which made Minerva think that she should get them to safety first and yell at them later.

But getting back wouldn't be all that easy because the blood magic that had led her to this clearing was gone, having fulfilled its purpose. Only now Minerva realised that she had forgotten to mark her path in any other way, making it a lot harder for her to retrace her steps or for anyone from the castle to find them.

_Stupid, stupid witch,_ she cursed, kicking herself mentally, but it was no use. They'd have to go slow then.

"Let's go. Before that thing comes back," she said with as firm a voice as she could muster. "Unlike certain other people I don't have to find out what kind of monster it is."

"That wasn't the monster," said Robert.

"What?"

"That was just…"

"Ssh!" Minerva held up a hand to silence him. "Are you hearing this?"

There was no need for Robert to answer because the noise that had been faint at first was swelling, the undergrowth was quivering, moving, and then it broke out of the darkness of the forest onto the clearing.

It was not a monster. As in just one. It was a whole army of them. They were small, not much larger than a Quaffle, but there were dozens, hundreds, and they looked like a cross between that Fire Crab the gamekeeper had mentioned and an Acromantula. Minerva didn't need to study Magical Creatures to figure that out. The eight legs and sharp pincers were a dead giveaway.

Her heart plummeted and she could feel the blood draining from her face. "RUN!" she yelled and pushed Malcolm off her and towards Robert, who groped for his brother's hand and for once did as he was told.

But it only took a second for Minerva to realise that they could never outrun these things, so she turned back around and raised her wand. Abandoning nonverbal spells for the satisfaction of voicing her terror, she did as many rapid-fire spells as she could think of. "Stupefy! Impedimenta! Evanesco! Stupefy! Vera Verto! PROTEGO!"

Every crab–spider mutation that she hit got stunned, frozen, vanished or turned into water goblets, but there were so many of them, it made hardly any difference. They poured onto the clearing in waves and simply scuttled right over their fallen comrades. And with so many assailants Minerva's Shield Charm couldn't hold for long.

"Get off the ground! Climb!" Minerva screamed at her brothers, her voice shrill from her mounting panic. She couldn't find a spell that was truly useful. "Duro! Locomotor mortis! Petrificus Totalus! Immobulus! PROTEGO!"

Several more mutants started harmlessly rolling away, their legs bound, petrified or literally turned to stone, many more were stopped mid-movement by the Freezing Charm, but the rest simply climbed over them and they started climbing the trees, too, when Minerva's protective shields got in the way. Being half spider, of course they could climb!

"Confringo!" Minerva roared, blasting a hole into a cluster of monsters, but taking half of the tree her brothers were climbing with them. The tree swayed dangerously and Robert and Malcolm could barely hold on to the branch they had just reached.

But it didn't really matter because they weren't any safer up there than down here. There was no more safety anywhere unless Minerva could think of something to do and think fast. Help, they needed help.

There must be something, anything. Something Dumbledore had taught her. Something he would do. But then, Dumbledore was Dumbledore. He could do anything. He was the greatest there ever was. But he wasn't _here._ And yet, there had to be something he once said to her. She just needed to remember. Well, he had probably said not to be dumb enough to go into the forest or else suffer the consequences. No, he wouldn't say that. He wasn't vindictive. He was a protector. A guardian. And she was failing him. Failing her brothers. Failing…

The most beautiful sound Minerva had ever heard suddenly filled the clearing, filled her ears and her heart. A musical cry so powerful and pure it strengthened her spirit and uplifted her soul. Suddenly, there was hope.

A red flame erupted against the night sky and Dumbledore's magnificent phoenix swooped down and scattered another wave of oncoming creatures. They shied away from the blinding light that emanated from the magical bird, but they were half Fire Crab, they couldn't be burned, not even by phoenix' flames.

"Fawkes!" Minerva breathed, momentarily dazed.

Fawkes had come to help. Fawkes, who was a phoenix. Relief crashed into her, profound, all-encompassing, overwhelming relief. "Fawkes! Take my brothers! Get them out of here!" she cried.

Fawkes circled closely around her head.

"No, not me! Them! Save them! Please!" Minerva begged of him.

He ruffled his feathers impatiently, but he flew over to the tree that her brothers were barely still clinging to. Robert was firing a couple of spells of his own towards the ground.

"Robert! Take Malcolm and hold on to Fawkes!" Minerva told him.

"What?" he shouted, looking at her like she was barking mad.

"The bloody bird, Robert! Grab the bird's tail!" Minerva yelled back.

Holding on to Malcolm with one hand, Robert shakily lifted the other one and reached out for Fawkes' bright and quivering tail feathers, clearly expecting to be burned. Instead, Fawkes beat his wings and lifted both Robert and Malcolm off that tree into the air as easily as if they were made out of nothing but cotton candy.

Once again, Fawkes swooped down low over Minerva's head, now with both of her brothers hanging on to his tail. Even though his eyes were round and petrified, Malcolm held out his hand for her, his fingers stretched apart as wide as they would go.

But another wave of creatures was coming and Minerva had to jump back, firing curses, and she was terrified that Robert or Malcolm might not be able to hold on for long. "Go! Get out of here!"

And Fawkes began to rise up into the air, up and up, and then he was gone. Without his light and his warmth, Minerva had never felt more alone.

"Expulso!" she cried again, but her attempts were getting feeble. The strength that the phoenix' song had given her seemed to have vanished with him. And there were just too many of them. She couldn't even see all of them in the darkness and some of them pierced her feet, burned the hem of her robes and her legs underneath. Minerva buckled and her wand fell from her hand.

With a bitter sense of disappointment, she wondered if this could truly be the end.

There was an almost inhuman roar and something enormous, gigantic even, rumbled onto the clearing, charging right into the sea of creatures. It was a man, a huge man, who Minerva faintly recognised as the gamekeeper's assistant from earlier, before he went down and disappeared under an onslaught of monsters.

But with enough of them drawn away from her, Minerva suddenly found that she could reach. And her fingers closed around her wand again. Only what to do with it? Individual spells were of no use. She needed something more powerful. But there was nothing here, nothing for her to transfigure, nothing but trees…

Raising her hand in one giant circle, Minerva bellowed, "Piertotum Locomotor!", only a single thought left. _Defend!_

A hush fell over the clearing, and the leaves of the trees that had swayed in the wind began to quiver and shake. Suddenly, roots started shooting out of the forest floor. They pierced the creatures' weak underbellies or pulled them under, swallowed them up beneath the earth. The trees were bending, their branches swept monsters up and away by the dozens, brushed them off the trembling form of the gamekeeper, crushed them, stomped them, until, eventually, they were all gone or scattered.

Her wand fiery warm in her hand, Minerva collapsed onto the forest floor, breathing heavy. But under the circumstances, any kind of continued breathing seemed preferable to the alternative. One after the other the trees became still again.

"Thank you… um…" she faltered when she realised that she didn't even know the name.

"Hagrid. 's just Hagrid. Everyone calls me that," was his response.

"Nice to officially meet you, Hagrid."

He didn't get to answer because now there were other voices coming.

"There they are! Up ahead!"

"Merlin's Beard! Did you see the trees move?"

Professors Sowerby and Slughorn burst onto the scene. Sowerby ran over to Minerva, Slughorn stopped in the middle of the clearing with his wand raised high.

"Are there any more of these things?" He asked with a strange mix of fear and hope, eyeing the corpses that lay all over the clearing.

"I don't think so," Minerva managed.

"Fought them off, did you, my dear girl? Well, of course, you did!" Slughorn roared.

"Will you stop shouting?" Sowerby hissed before she turned back to Minerva. "Are you badly hurt? Can you walk?"

Minerva nodded because she wanted nothing more than to get out of here.

"What should we do about these?" Slughorn asked, picking up a dead creature and looking at it intently.

"I can take care of 'em," Hagrid offered. "Round up what's left of 'em."

"No, you should come to the hospital wing, too. Let Ogg deal with this. Really, I thought that's why we had a gamekeeper! And of course, Silvanus is off visiting his brother." Sowerby shook her head.

"Really, Professor, I can do it," Hagrid insisted. "Should be me, really, since i's me fault."

Sowerby frowned. "Why would this be your fault?"

"Er," said Hagrid.

Minerva got back to her feet but swayed a little, which Professor Sowerby noticed with alarm and she seemed to decide that everything else could wait. "Never mind now. Let's get you back to the castle."

They made their way out of the forest, and right next to the gamekeeper's cabin, much to Minerva's surprise, waited Robert and Malcolm. Professor Beery was taking care of them, but they had clearly been anxiously watching the forest. As soon as Minerva emerged, they ran at her, almost knocking her off her feet. But she didn't mind and she hugged them back as hard as she could.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Robert sobbed into her shoulder.

"That's enough now, boys. Let her breathe," Beery separated them.

When Minerva was given room, she spotted Fawkes, who was sitting on the front steps of the cabin, watching them all with his beady eyes. Minerva staggered towards him. Now that she had confirmation that everyone was safe, she suddenly felt bone tired, but she made it over to him.

"Thank you," she whispered. "For my brothers."

She awkwardly reached out to touch him, and when she saw a tear glistening in his eyes, she thought for one delirious second that she had hurt him. But when the tear dropped onto her arm and healed one of her many cuts, she understood.

Minerva smiled at him.

And then she blacked out.

When she woke up again, it was to the sound of her mother yelling, which had to mean that she had been unconscious for quite some time. She was still terribly tired, though, and she was lying in the hospital wing. But none of that really mattered because Minerva had never heard her mother be beside herself like that.

"You could have gotten yourselves killed! You very nearly got your sister killed, trying to save you!" Isobel was yelling.

But there was a voice closer to her bed that said, "Go back to sleep, Minerva."

She opened her mouth. She thought she might say something to defend her brothers, though she didn't really know what.

"Sleep, Minerva," Dumbledore said again and Minerva slept.

* * *

Later that night, Albus Dumbledore entered his study, to which Fawkes had long since returned.

Albus finally took off his travelling cloak. He had headed straight to the hospital wing upon learning what had happened when he had returned to the castle from London.

And now the man and the phoenix surveyed each other for a rather long time.

"You came to her aid when I couldn't," Albus finally said. "Well done, my friend. Very well done, indeed."

Fawkes only continued to look at him solemnly.

"It's because of the sweets she's been giving you, isn't it?"

The phoenix cocked his head and gave a soft musical cry.

"Yes," Albus said softly. "I know."


	20. Choices

**A/N: Thank you for your amazing reviews. I truly cherish every single one of them. And they also inspire me to keep writing, so here's the next chapter.**

* * *

**20\. Choices**

After she had slept for days and allowed Madam Hailstone to pour lots of different potions down her throat (not that she had a choice), Minerva was finally allowed to leave the hospital wing on Wednesday. Naturally, the last class of the day had just ended.

"Sure, now you're letting me leave," Minerva muttered.

"I can keep you here another night if that would make you happier..." Madam Hailstone said sweetly.

Wisely, Minerva kept her mouth shut and quickly gathered her things.

"Hold up!" Madam Hailstone called after her and Minerva paused reluctantly. "Professor Dumbledore asked that you come to see him once you're cleared to go."

Relieved that the matron hadn't changed her mind about discharging her, Minerva nodded and slowly took the familiar route to her teacher's study.

The door was already open when she got there because a Gryffindor second-year was in Professor Dumbledore's office, telling him about some drama that was unfolding in the Trophy Room right now.

Dumbledore rose from his chair, and when he saw Minerva, he said, "Would you be so kind as to wait for me here while I go and deal with this matter?"

"Never a dull moment, is there, sir?" she joked half-heartedly. Perhaps, she was testing the waters between the two of them.

"Indeed," Dumbledore smiled at her, and Minerva instantly felt better about waiting for his return.

Only, she had spent so much time sleeping in the hospital wing, she was too anxious to sit down and do nothing. So she walked around the room and for a while she inspected the large painting behind which she suspected the door to Dumbledore's private rooms. Then she spotted the newest edition of _Transfiguration Today _on her teacher's desk and figured he wouldn't mind. She found an interesting article and started reading and marking it as she always did.

She was almost done when Dumbledore returned, his eyes going to the magazine in her hand and the notes she had left in the margins. "Sorry, Professor. I'll remove them. It's just a habit."

"Oh no, be my guest. But it doesn't look as if you enjoyed that particular article," Dumbledore said as he rounded his desk to sit down.

"It's fascinating, actually, only the premise is a little flawed. It takes things for granted that haven't even been proven yet."

"Ah, but all facts originally started out as nothing but educated guesses," Dumbledore pointed out.

"But how educated they are depends solely on whoever made them, and even if that person is a genius, that still doesn't make it very scientific. At the very least, they should find someone to verify, preferably someone who knows what they are doing," Minerva countered.

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair. "Then I'm glad that you found the time to read my article."

"Your...?" Minerva froze, her eyes going back and forth between the magazine and her teacher's face. "But it says here..."

"Sometimes I publish under a different name because I find that otherwise people will never tell me if something I wrote is complete rubbish – like you just did," Dumbledore explained rather cheerfully.

"I... didn't say rubbish," Minerva protested faintly.

"Oh, I'm sure it will come up somewhere in those copious notes you made," he said and Minerva held on tightly to the magazine. She was so not going to let him read her notes now. Thankfully, Dumbledore didn't ask her to hand it over. "I can assure you that I'm perfectly capable of admitting when something isn't my finest work, and I would be delighted to discuss that particular article with you, but there is a rather more pressing matter, I believe."

Minerva didn't say anything because she didn't know what to expect. Technically, she hadn't broken any rules. She had merely gone after her brothers, who had done the actual rule-breaking and who had already been punished – or were still being punished. They would be in detention for a while, and Minerva wholeheartedly approved. Well, she felt a little sorry for Malcolm, but really, he should have used his brain rather than to blindly follow his big brother.

Speaking of which, Dumbledore could argue that Minerva shouldn't have gone into the forest on her own either. That she should have waited for the other teachers. But seeing as her brothers might have been dead by then, that didn't make for a very convincing argument.

"First," Dumbledore said and pulled Minerva back out of her reverie, "how are you doing?"

Blinking in surprise and slight embarrassment because of the gentleness of the question, Minerva quickly said, "I'm fine. How is... Hagrid?"

"He's in excellent health. Had barely a scratch on him, really, but thank you for asking."

"And what about those... things?" Minerva still didn't have a name for them.

"Professor Kettleburn has relocated them together with their, ah, mother," Dumbledore replied.

"Only their mother? What happened to the Acromantula?"

"Apparently, no one has been able to find it."

"A giant spider?" Minerva scoffed. "Can't be that difficult."

"One would think so, yes," Professor Dumbledore said lightly. It didn't sound as if he had volunteered to go looking. "In the meantime, there's one more marvellous rumour about the forest for students to tell."

Minerva harrumphed. She agreed that it was a good thing if other students had been given additional incentive to stay out of the forest. She only wished it hadn't involved her family.

"Have you talked to anyone about your adventure yet?" Dumbledore asked.

She'd had lots of visitors in the hospital wing – mostly her brothers, who were feeling terribly guilty, though Minerva suspected that wouldn't last long. And she had been stopped in the corridors multiple times on her way here. Since she was a prefect and still leading the study group whenever she had the time, many students felt like they could come up to her and ask her about what had happened. But Minerva knew that was not what Professor Dumbledore was really asking.

"No. And it wasn't an adventure."

"Of course. A poor choice of words," Dumbledore retracted.

"But everyone thinks so. No one wants to hear that it was... that _I_ was... more scared than I've ever been in my whole life," Minerva confessed without consciously deciding to do so. It just slipped out. "Certainly not the other Gryffindors."

"It is ironic that we sometimes don't understand the virtues of our own house," Dumbledore said softly. "Courage is not the absence of fear."

"It is fearing and deciding to face it anyway," Minerva finished his thought.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "I have been lecturing you for too long, I see."

"No," said Minerva, who didn't think that she would ever tire of listening to Dumbledore's wisdom. "The real thing just didn't feel very brave or heroic at all. It was just... horrible."

"Ah, yes," Dumbledore nodded. "Somehow that part always gets omitted. I suppose because it makes for a better story. We so rarely get to tell our own stories, or when we do, people aren't willing to listen."

She might be overstepping, but Minerva felt as if they were sharing something, something Dumbledore had experienced as well, only a hundred times worse, because of who he was. "I'm listening, sir," she offered.

Dumbledore smiled at her fondly, or so she thought, but he demurred. "Another time, perhaps. We were still talking about you and your ordeal."

"I don't think there's a lot more to say. I had to save my brothers, or at least I had to try." What would have happened if she had failed was a thought that would continue to haunt her for quite some time. "But I didn't have a choice."

"There's always a choice," Dumbledore said, his voice calm but assertive. "Those who say otherwise usually do so knowing that they had an opportunity to choose and chose wrong. Of course, even when we do make the right choice, we may find ourselves unequal to the task. But I think it is safe to say that you did not only rise to the challenge, as frightening as that must have been, but that you rose above it."

She would also never tire of hearing him praise her, Minerva thought, swelling with pride. But a second, more cautionary impulse told her to point out, "I had help. Hagrid, and Fawkes." She lifted her eyes to meet Dumbledore's. "Would you tell him thanks for me again? I tried, but I'm not sure if he understood."

"Oh, he understands better than we do sometimes," Dumbledore assured her. "And regardless, not many sixth-years could have charged the trees of the Forbidden Forest to protect her."

"I wasn't sure it would work either," Minerva admitted. "I just knew we needed protection."

"I regret I wasn't there to give it," Dumbledore said and he almost sounded pained, but he briskly added, "Although, as your Transfiguration teacher, I feel like I played a small part."

Which reminded Minerva of something she had been meaning to ask. "I won't pass out every time I do that spell, though, will I?"

"Are you anticipating a next time?"

"No, but I wasn't anticipating this one either."

Dumbledore inclined his head. "Fair point. And no, I daresay you will only grow stronger." He paused, looking very solemn, or more so than usual. "Which is why I have decided to grant your request after all."

Minerva didn't dare to speak or even hope. She certainly wouldn't insult either one of their intelligence by pretending she didn't know which request he was speaking of.

"Provided, your parents give their consent."

At that, Minerva could no longer hold her tongue. "But I'm of age!"

"And do you think that because you are seventeen, your parents would not share in your pain should anything go wrong? Or that your nearly fatal incursion into the Forbidden Forest has made them less likely to care deeply for your well-being?" Dumbledore asked one of his infuriating questions that could only be answered exactly the way he wanted them to.

Minerva opened her mouth and closed it again, unable to come up with a response that Dumbledore wouldn't immediately take apart again.

Fully aware that she was working furiously on finding a way out of this, Dumbledore said, "I do recognise your legal authority to make this decision as a witch who is young, very young, but over-age. But for this to work, you will also have to recognise my authority to decide how we would proceed. And you would have to recognise it _without question."_

His voice left no room for protest, so Minerva swallowed it all and nodded.

"Very well then. I think you should take the rest of this term to regain your full strength and I shall come and talk to your parents this summer."

Even if Minerva had dared to object to any of this, she would have been too stunned. She had never heard of a teacher making a house call before. Unfortunately, she couldn't decide if that meant that Professor Dumbledore really wanted to persuade her parents to say yes or if he really wanted to make sure they'd say no.

Either way, she had a feeling that he would get what he wanted.

* * *

Too nervous to focus on anything, Minerva was pacing up and down like a caged animal. Her parents had stopped asking her to sit down. They were both in the sitting room, but they weren't as calm as they pretended to be either. Isobel was reading the paper, but she hadn't turned to the next page in forever. Robert was sitting in his favourite armchair, staring at the fireplace.

"He's not coming through there, is he?" he suddenly asked, startling both his wife and his daughter.

Minerva paused. It suddenly occurred to her that she had never thought to ask. "Uh, I don't know."

Her father sighed and fell silent again. Thankfully, Junior and Malcolm were at a friend's house tonight. So the manse was perfectly quiet except for the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece.

Professor Dumbledore had said that he would call on the house at eight. It was five to. Minerva resumed pacing.

When she passed her father's armchair, he reached out to take her right hand in both of his. He had been even more attentive than usual this summer, and it wasn't hard for Minerva to understand why. It was because of that night last term when Robert and Isobel McGonagall had been informed that all three of their children had been brought to the hospital wing after an unfortunate incident in the Forbidden Forest. Robert had been forced to stay behind, fretting, because they hadn't wanted to waste any time asking for the necessary spells to be lifted to allow a Muggle to enter Hogwarts.

It had unsettled him. Minerva sympathized and she wouldn't have complained about her father's tendency to dote on her, but it was the exact opposite of what she needed from him tonight. So she gave him a smile, but she withdrew her hand and kept pacing, her favourite summer dress swishing behind her. She had been tempted to put on her school robes, but that would have been silly. Not to mention, it would have put her father even more on edge. He had already drawn all the curtains. Although, if Professor Dumbledore really were to arrive by Floo powder, that would actually be a prudent precaution. Mrs. Caraidland, who loved to come by the manse on her evening walks, was very nosy.

The clock chimed eight, there was a soft knock on the front door, and Minerva jumped. For a moment, all three McGonagalls were frozen, as though they had never heard of such a thing as a visitor knocking on their door. Then Minerva shook it off and briskly went into the hallway to let her teacher into the house.

She opened the door and took two large steps back. Not only because the hallway was small and she wanted to give Professor Dumbledore enough room to enter, but also because his appearance caught her completely by surprise. Now that she thought about it, she should have known that Dumbledore wouldn't travel via the Floo Network. He could Apparate, after all, and he was also capable of making sure that he wouldn't be seen by any Muggles if he didn't want to be. But there was no need for that.

Dumbledore was wearing a suit – a suit with a light brown tweed jacket over a matching vest and a blue tie and a handkerchief in the breast pocket. No one in the village who might have seen him walk up to the manse would have thought twice about his appearance. Well, they might have wondered what fine-looking company the reverend and his wife were having tonight, but not even in their wildest dreams would they have guessed that they had just seen the most powerful wizard alive.

Honestly, neither would have Minerva, even though she knew better. But without his magnificent robes and with his auburn hair and beard freshly trimmed, Dumbledore simply didn't look it. He looked like an erudite professor from a fancy or (as people in the village were usually less polite) snobbish English boarding school, which, incidentally, was exactly where everyone in the village thought the McGonagall children were going off to at the start of every September.

Minerva was too nervous to appreciate this fully, but part of her did recognise that this had been a very considerate thing to do on Professor Dumbledore's part.

"Good evening, Minerva," he said as he stepped over the threshold.

"Good evening, Professor," she replied, and because she simply couldn't hold her tongue, she added, "I like your suit."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Thank you. I visited a local Muggle store and they had wonderful service. When I told the assistant that I was a professor, he wanted to talk me into buying a year's worth supply of these marvellous suits. The poor chap looked a little disappointed when I told him that one would do."

Grinning, Minerva led her Head of House into the sitting room where her parents had stood to greet him. Acting exactly as well-mannered as he looked, Dumbledore took her mother's hand first.

"Isobel. Thank you for allowing me to intrude on your evening," he said.

"Oh no, Professor, we should thank you for taking the time to come and talk to us," she replied.

"My pleasure," Dumbledore assured her. "And of course, it's a pleasure to finally meet you, Reverend McGonagall," he added, turning to Minerva's father.

"Same here, Mr. ... Dumbledore," he said, tripping over the name ever so slightly. "We've heard a lot about you these past six years."

It was only when they shook hands now that Minerva truly realised that Dumbledore and her father had never met before. Even without his robes, Dumbledore was taller. But then, he usually was, one way or another.

"Can we offer you anything? Some tea or perhaps something stronger?" Isobel asked.

Personally, Minerva would have liked something stronger right about now, but she knew she wasn't included in that offer. Her parents had decided that when it came to alcohol, they would stick to the Muggle restrictions of having to be eighteen years of age. It was quite arbitrary, really.

"I wouldn't say no to a nice hot cup of tea," Dumbledore said, and Isobel went into the kitchen to put a kettle on the stove.

It was a bit ridiculous, because Professor Dumbledore could have conjured it within seconds himself. But he seemed perfectly happy to wait for Minerva's mother to do it by hand.

In the meantime, Robert indicated to him that he should sit in the second armchair. "You didn't have any trouble getting here then?" he asked, his eyes flickering towards the fireplace for a second. He was clearly relieved that Dumbledore had walked in here in such a normal and unobtrusive manner.

"Not at all. I had a little stroll through the village. Very charming. One of your neighbours has particularly beautiful rhododendrons."

"Ah, yes, that would have been Callum Abernathy's house. He's developed a real knack for them. It's almost like, well, like magic, I suppose." Robert grimaced and then looked from Dumbledore to Minerva. "Are you just going to stand there all night, Minerva?"

She had been too horrified to find her teacher and her father on the brink of exchanging gardening tips to notice that she hadn't sat down yet. Without a word, she sat on the sofa. Her mother returned with the tea for everyone and sat next to her.

"I trust that Minerva has told you why I'm here?" Dumbledore said into the (in Minerva's opinion) uncomfortable silence that had ensued.

"Yes, but I must admit that I don't understand why this 'Animagus' business is different from everything else you've been teaching her without asking for our permission first," Robert said. "I thought that turning people into frogs or something like that is a skill all witches and wizards have. After all, there are enough stories about it."

"Fairy tales, not stories," Minerva corrected her father.

"Either way, there is some truth to it," Dumbledore said. "Turning others into a frog is a fairly advanced level of Transfiguration magic, but one that is more or less commonly acquired, and I have indeed already taught Minerva how to do so," he informed her father, who did not look particularly happy to hear that. "However, turning oneself into a frog would be a lot more difficult and extremely inadvisable at that."

That any kind of magic was inadvisable seemed easy enough for Robert to believe, but still he asked, "And why is that?"

"If you turn yourself into a frog, you do become a frog, meaning you henceforth lack the necessary intelligence, not to mention an opposable thumb, to perform the necessary spell that would change you back into your human form," Dumbledore explained.

His eyes wide, Robert looked from him to Minerva. "And that's what you want to do?"

Minerva snorted. "No, I don't want to turn myself into a frog."

"Technically, you might. You don't know what your Animagus would look like," Isobel pointed out.

"I know that. But I was hoping that the animal that most resembles my personality is not an amphibian with a brain the size of my bellybutton," she countered.

"Even if you turn yourself into a dolphin, wouldn't you still be unable to change back?" Robert asked, frowning.

"If she were to use a spell – the same spell, in essence, that she would use to transfigure any of us – then yes," Dumbledore answered his question with a teacher's patience. "And that is the difference between a Human Transfiguration Spell and being an Animagus. A true Animagus can change into his or her animal form – and back – at will. It is an ability, not a spell, and its true power lies in the witch or wizard retaining their human intelligence while in animal form."

"So you would be a frog, but you would still be you on the inside?" Robert summed that up in his own words.

Minerva rolled her eyes. "Can we please stop with the frog already?"

"I'm just trying to understand your fascination with this, Minerva," her father replied with a hint of sharpness in his voice.

"Well, think about it, Robert," her mother came to her aid. "If you're still able to think and act like you, except you now look like your neighbour's pet, then you could go anywhere without being recognised, or do so many other things that would have been impossible before, perhaps even fly, if your Animagus form has wings. The potential is endless."

"The criminal potential, you mean," Robert said, his look highly critical. Perhaps he was thinking of Mrs. Caraidland's cat, who liked to sneak into their garden and steal their food whenever they were eating outside.

"There's a registry to prevent that from happening. And that's obviously not why I want to do this," Minerva protested.

"Then why do you want to do it?"

Her father, mother and Professor Dumbledore all looked at her with the same expectant expression.

"Because I have almost exhausted all other areas of study in the field of Transfiguration, or I will have once we've dealt with Conjuration in greater detail this upcoming year. The Animagus transformation would be the only aspect of Transfiguration magic that I won't have studied when I leave Hogwarts. It would feel like climbing a mountain, only to turn around when you're faced with the final ascent to the peak. And you know I don't quit."

She really didn't. She never had. Even when they had used to go hiking as a family and Junior and Malcolm had wailed at the top of their little lungs that their feet were hurting and that they didn't want to do this anymore, Minerva had gritted her teeth and marched on. Sure, she had mostly just wanted to impress her father, but she had always made it to the top. Her parents exchanged a look as though they were remembering the same thing.

"But this isn't usually taught at Hogwarts?" Robert asked, even though he already knew the answer to that. Still, he was trying to think it through. Minerva could tell by the way his brows were furrowed, and she hoped that was a good thing. He was considering it, at least.

"No," Dumbledore confirmed.

"So you would give Minerva private lessons?"

"For lack of a better term, yes," Dumbledore nodded once again.

The lines on Robert's forehead deepened. "Is that something you usually do?"

"Not usually, no. But Minerva is no ordinary student," Dumbledore said simply. "And as it is the mission of Hogwarts school to provide every student with the best education they can possibly receive, it seems appropriate to make an exception in this case."

Minerva could tell by the look on her parents' faces that they weren't unaffected by such praise for their daughter. She knew they were proud of her. She knew there was hope that they might be swayed.

Still, there was something surreal about the situation. Minerva was an adult and a very accomplished witch for her age. She knew more magic than all the rest of her classmates put together. And yet, she was sitting here with two men, who were in the process of deciding her future for her. She was well aware that, more often than not, that was exactly how the world worked for women. But that didn't make it any less wrong or infuriating.

Also, there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. It was entirely up to Professor Dumbledore whether he would teach her or not, as no one could tell him what to do or what to think (Minerva had tried, after all). And he in turn had made it very clear that he would respect her parents' decision on the matter, but mostly, it seemed, her father's. So Minerva was completely and frustratingly at their mercy.

Her father took his time thinking.

"But why isn't it on the syllabus? Not even for top-of-the-class students like Minerva? I understand that it's difficult, but there must have been others who were good enough to try..." he wondered, and then he asked the one question Minerva had rather hoped they could avoid. Even though she had known that they wouldn't, from the moment Professor Dumbledore had insisted on coming to speak to her parents in person.

"Is it dangerous?"

"Exceedingly so," Dumbledore replied, without even trying to sugarcoat anything. "It is among the most dangerous kinds of magic because of the difficulty in controlling the risks."

Isobel, who, unlike her husband, had understood right away what Minerva was asking when she had first mentioned it to them, leaned forward to pose the one question she had been meaning to ask. "But if some of her early transformation attempts should go wrong, you could fix that, couldn't you? I've seen you help a boy who was running around with a fish bowl for a head! He was right as rain afterwards, perhaps a little scared of goldfish, but otherwise... You could do the same for Minerva?"

"No," Dumbledore said. Minerva had never heard such a simple word sound so jarring. "Animagus magic has its own set of rules, seeing as it is rather more powerful than Transfiguration Spells and also completely independent of them. Hence, there are no counter-spells or healing potions that could reverse its effects. The result of a failed transformation attempt would most likely be a permanent mutation."

If the silence after Professor Dumbledore had sat down had been uncomfortable, the silence that followed now was unbearable.

But it was still preferable to when Minerva's father eventually opened his mouth to say, "I'm sorry, is this a joke? Are you honestly telling me that you've come here to have tea with us and to lecture us about the difference between turning people into frogs and dolphins when you knew all along that to say yes to this would mean that Minerva could end up mutilated for the rest of her life?"

"Robert," Isobel warned him gently, as she knew that people didn't usually take that tone when speaking to Professor Dumbledore.

He continued as if he hadn't heard his wife. "I've been told that you are a very sensible person, and I chose to believe that. Even though I only ever heard from you when my children got hurt by the magic you teach them or when they used that magic to harm others. Which is something I can understand a lot better now that I see the way you handle dangerous magic..."

"But it's me!" Minerva jumped in to defend her teacher. She hated to hear her father talk like that – and to Professor Dumbledore of all people. "I'm the one who wants this. Professor Dumbledore didn't even say yes at first."

Her father looked from her back to her Head of House. "Then why did you?"

"Because Minerva is in a unique position," Dumbledore said, his voice as calm as it had always been. It was what made it so hard to win an argument against him. "For one thing, she is taught by me, if you'll excuse my lack of modesty, but I happen to be one of the only wizards capable of helping her to achieve this and, more importantly, to do it as safely as humanly possible. Certainly a lot safer than if she were to try it on her own eventually. And secondly, successfully becoming an Animagus is very much within her reach."

Minerva's heart momentarily forgot to keep beating while she struggled not to let her mouth fall open in surprise. Even when Professor Dumbledore had first changed his mind and agreed to teach her, he hadn't said that he truly believed she could do this.

"I have never known any other student to display this level of talent and passion for Transfiguration and to also be willing to put in the necessary work. It seems to me that it would be of a much greater cruelty not to allow Minerva to do this and to sacrifice her peace of mind for the sake of our own. As she would be forced to wonder for all of her final year at Hogwarts whether she could have achieved this, had she been given the opportunity to try."

Once again, the room fell silent. Minerva was too stunned to say anything. Her mother wordlessly took her hand and they both looked to Minerva's father, who stared at her so hard as though she were a puzzle he couldn't work out.

"This is truly what you want?" he asked.

"It is."

He heaved a sigh – a sigh that told her that she had won. "Sometimes I wish you had turned out just a little less brilliant."

Minerva had no idea how to respond to that, but she didn't need to because Robert looked back at Professor Dumbledore. "I don't much care who you are and I don't care who you've defeated. I expect you to make sure that my daughter doesn't get hurt again or, God help me, I will forget myself and do something that you and I would both come to regret."

"Father!" Minerva burst out in shock. She had never thought him capable of making a threat like that. It didn't only go against everything he believed in, it was also completely laughable.

But Dumbledore didn't laugh. "I understand," he said, as if her father's words had been entirely justified and sensible.

"Then I guess you've got yourself additional lessons this year," Robert said, focusing on Minerva again. "But you better not come home for Christmas as a frog."

Under the circumstances, Minerva couldn't laugh about that. And she wasn't surprised that Professor Dumbledore was rather keen on leaving now that a decision had been made.

"Well, then," he said. "I will be seeing you on the first of September – one last time. And speaking of which, I thought I would save some of our Hogwarts owls a trip." He reached into an inside pocket and pulled out three Hogwarts letters. He handed two of them to Isobel and one to Minerva.

She opened it right away because Dumbledore had just reminded her that it was her last one and she suddenly felt nostalgic enough to actually read the start-of-term instructions again. But before she could do so, a red and golden badge fell out of the envelope into her lap. Minerva had only just picked it up when her mother squealed in delight.

"Head Girl! You've been named Head Girl! Oh, Minerva…"

"What? What is that?" her father asked, leaning forward curiously.

"It's the highest honour the headmaster can bestow upon a student, other than the Special Award for Services to the School, perhaps," Isobel explained happily. "There is only one Head Girl and one Head Boy in all of Hogwarts, chosen among all seventh-years."

"Good Lord!" Robert exclaimed. "Isn't that a lot better than being an… Animagus?"

"I'm not changing my mind," Minerva told him.

He gave her an appeasing smile. "You can't fault me for trying."

She didn't, but she tore her eyes away from the badge in her hand to look at Professor Dumbledore.

"Congratulations, Minerva," he said, though this wouldn't have been news to him. "Hogwarts is very lucky to have you. But I hope this won't make you forget your other duties to your house as its Quidditch captain."

"Don't worry, sir. I already let the team know that this year we'll start practising our first week back at school," she replied.

Dumbledore smiled. "I thought so. Well, thank you for the tea and the hospitality, but I must be off now."

He stood and he shook both of her parents' hands again, even her father's, but then he was gone rather quickly.

The entire visit had a dreamlike quality to it, Minerva thought later when she was lying in bed. She had a feeling that she wouldn't be able to fall asleep any time soon. Her mind was racing with thoughts about her upcoming Animagus lessons and her new Head Girl responsibilities.

So she was still awake when her mother knocked on her door and poked her head inside. "I thought you might still be up," she said, and Minerva sat up in bed while Isobel came in to perch on the edge of it. "Your brothers are up in arms that we didn't tell them that Dumbledore would be coming tonight."

"I'm glad they weren't there," Minerva said, shaking her head.

"You do realise that you got everything you wanted, don't you? Because you don't look like it," Isobel noted.

Of course, Minerva was relieved, and she would take this outcome over a 'no' from her parents any day. "I just didn't know Papa would react like that," she said.

Her mother patted her hand. "Your father is a man of God, but he is still a man. And all men react the same way when they are threatened."

"But he wasn't. He was the one who threatened Professor Dumbledore." Minerva still shuddered at the memory.

"Oh, he was threatened all right," Isobel said. When she saw that Minerva didn't know what she meant, she explained, "Sweetheart, you must understand that when you and I look at Professor Dumbledore, we see the man who defeated Grindelwald, the greatest wizard of our time, who has taught us magic beyond our wildest imagination – you even more so than me."

She paused and smiled at her curiously. "But when your father looks at Professor Dumbledore, well, all he sees is the man who's taking away his only daughter."

"I am not going to be turned into a frog!" Minerva huffed.

"I should hope not, but that's not what I'm talking about." Isobel laughed and kissed her on the forehead. "Good night, my darling Head Girl."


	21. Waiting for the Moon

**A/N: Again, thank you so much for your love and support. It makes writing this story even more fun! **

* * *

**21\. Waiting for the Moon**

As she entered the Great Hall for the start-of-term feast that would mark the beginning of her seventh and final year at Hogwarts, Minerva was overcome with emotion. She couldn't imagine leaving these halls behind in only a couple of months' time. But then members of the Quidditch team came up to her to ask about practice, Augusta demanded a detailed report on Dumbledore's visit over the summer, and they kept getting interrupted by Gryffindors who wanted to congratulate Minerva on having been named Head Girl.

So really, she didn't have any time to feel sad. Not on that first night and certainly not once classes had started. Part of her had actually managed to forget some of the stress and terror of her O.W.L. year, but her teachers were kind enough to remind her and to warn them all that the N.E.W.T.s would be ten times as bad. Nevertheless, Minerva in turn reminded Professor Dumbledore that they needed to schedule her first Animagus lesson.

She had been a little worried that he would refuse after all, but she should have known better. Professor Dumbledore wouldn't go back on his word. And so Minerva walked into his study on Friday evening, followed by a flock of birds.

"I see you've brought friends," Dumbledore greeted her, sitting behind his desk as usual.

"I was just practising," Minerva said and waved her wand to make the birds vanish again.

Dumbledore sighed. "And so I'm keeping you from your homework already."

"Actually, you're keeping me from having dinner with Professor Slughorn," Minerva told him.

"I see. Well, in that case... shall we begin?"

He pointed to her usual chair in front of his desk and Minerva sat, trying to spot anything different about the room, anything Dumbledore might have prepared for today, but the office looked the same as always.

Her attempts had not been inconspicuous enough because Professor Dumbledore said, "I see you're eager to get started, but you won't transform as much as a fingernail tonight, I'm afraid. First, I need you to understand what exactly it is we're dealing with here."

Minerva had read enough about the process to know that it was impossible for her to transform tonight, but she hadn't been sure if those rules still applied when your teacher was Albus Dumbledore. Either way, she let him know with a nod that she was listening.

"To become an Animagus one must use very ancient magic. It would not be far off to say that you're entering into a magical contract with your animal form. When you transform, you retain all your intellectual capabilities, your sense of identity and your memories, but you give up your human form in exchange for your animal form, gaining all that body has to offer, including such physical properties as strength, speed and vision.

Only for a limited time, however. It is borrowed, not taken. To stay too long in an Animagus form, while certainly possible, would eventually have ill effects. This kind of magic should not be trifled with. Regardless of the wizard or the circumstances."

"And what about your circumstances, sir?" Minerva asked the question she had been meaning to ask for months now. She had checked the Animagus Registry from this century and the last, which didn't take long as it was an extremely short list. And Professor Dumbledore's name was not on it, which she simply couldn't explain.

"In my case," Dumbledore said thoughtfully, "I was absolutely convinced, the same as you are now, that there was no reason whatsoever why I shouldn't achieve this feat. After all, I was being hailed as the best Transfiguration student Hogwarts or any other wizarding school had ever seen, though you have, of course, since then given me a run for my money."

He winked at her before he continued. "But at the time I didn't anticipate that there was or would ever be anyone more skilled than I was. So I forged ahead as I always did, in a blaze of glory, or so I imagined."

Since she didn't dare to comment on Dumbledore's underlying criticism of his younger self, Minerva focused on a more pressing question. "Sir, are you saying that you did it on your own? But you told me that if I tried that, you'd have me expelled! That's..."

"... a double standard?" Dumbledore finished her sentence for her. "Certainly, but you see, it is a mentor's prerogative to save his protégé from repeating his mistakes."

That brought Minerva up short. "Mistakes? Then... it didn't work?"

"Oh, it worked. It wasn't as easy as I thought it would be, but I managed to transform," Dumbledore said and paused, almost as if for dramatic effect.

But Minerva had been wondering for weeks now what her teacher might turn into and she simply couldn't decide. She had considered everything from a bumblebee to a lion, but nothing really seemed to fit. It was harder even than picturing her own transformation.

"My Animagus is a phoenix," Dumbledore finally told her.

"But that's impossible!" Minerva burst out before she could stop herself. "All the books I've read said that it has to be an animal one transforms into."

Professor Dumbledore nodded. "And so it is in every other case that I know of."

Not sure why she was so surprised, Minerva laughed softly. "But it's you we're talking about. You're different... sir."

"Alas, so it seems. Even when it's to my detriment."

"Why? A phoenix Animagus must be the most powerful Animagus there is!"

"Perhaps. But as is always the case with great power, it doesn't come without equally great cost," Dumbledore said gravely, the light in his eyes of a frightening intensity.

"As you just pointed out, a phoenix is not an animal. They are highly intelligent and immensely powerful magical creatures who, if transformed into, will not only give one the ability to fly like an ordinary bird, but also all of their other powers that are not meant to be shared lightly. It creates an imbalance that needs to be paid. In exchange for receiving a phoenix' powers, I need to sacrifice some of my own."

Perhaps Minerva really hadn't realised what kind of risks they were dealing with. "You lose some of your magic?" she asked, stunned. She had never heard of such a thing before.

"No, not my magic." Dumbledore tapped his right temple with his finger. "My mind. Worth a lot more."

Either way, Minerva was too shocked to say anything.

"I wasn't prepared for it the first time. I could have lost myself that day. Since then I've grown a lot wiser, which also means that I stand more to lose. A magical conundrum one might say." Dumbledore leaned back in his chair.

"So... you can't actually transform anymore."

"I could, but, as seems to be the case so often these days, there's always the question whether the price is quite right."

"I'm sorry, Professor," Minerva said. She couldn't imagine going through this long process only to find that your Animagus wasn't just powerful, but too powerful.

Dumbledore lightly shook his head. "This was neither a complaint nor an attempt to elicit your sympathy, which I do not deserve. I am quite content with how things are."

"This is how you found Fawkes, isn't it?" Minerva realised, brightening up at once.

"He likes to say that he is the one who found me, actually," Dumbledore replied, his eyes twinkling.

Minerva laughed, but something was still nagging at her. "But, sir, technically, you're still an Animagus. Shouldn't you be on the Registry then?"

"Ah," said Dumbledore, looking a little sheepish, which wasn't something she'd ever seen before. "I must confess that I wasn't keen on explaining all of this to the Ministry. It is, of course, up to you whether you will keep my little secret."

"What secret, Professor?" Minerva said without even bothering to think about it.

Dumbledore merely smiled at her serenely.

"Sir, you don't think that my Animagus will be a phoenix as well?" Minerva wondered.

"No, I don't."

"Then you will still let me try?"

"Yes. I just want you to keep in mind that even someone who is very talented at Transfiguration in general can fail at this."

Minerva nodded because that was the only thing she could do.

"But before you can actually start to prepare for the transformation itself, we shall need to mix the Animagus Potion that is necessary to aid the transformation process," Dumbledore explained. "Two of the required ingredients, as you undoubtedly have already discovered, are a silver teaspoon of dew that has not seen sunlight or been touched by human feet for seven days and the chrysalis of a Death's-head Hawk Moth."

While Minerva had indeed found the list of ingredients months ago, she had been hoping that Professor Dumbledore might know of a way to become an Animagus without using that potion, as it wasn't exactly easy to procure. "But the only place where one could get those things would be…"

"… deep inside the Forbidden Forest, yes," Dumbledore finished that thought for her.

Minerva groaned. For obvious reasons, she wasn't anxious to go back in there. Her brother's screams and the fear of dying in that bloody forest still haunted her sometimes.

"Unfortunately, the Animagus Potion cannot be tricked or cheated in any way. You will have to be the one to procure all of its ingredients. However, you shall not have to go alone."

Embarrassed that Professor Dumbledore thought he had to chaperon her, Minerva sat up a little straighter. "That's all right, Professor. I wanted to do this, and I can take care of myself."

"Yes, you have certainly proven that much. But please forgive me if I'm still not prepared to take that risk," Dumbledore said and seemed to check his watch. "So, I think four thirty should do."

"Four thirty tomorrow morning?" Minerva asked, her eyes wide.

"Sounds like the perfect time to collect some dew, don't you think?" Dumbledore said brightly. "I will meet you in the Entrance Hall."

* * *

At a quarter past four Minerva stumbled out of bed when all of Gryffindor Tower and the rest of the entire castle was still sleeping, including the portraits. Not even the ghosts looked particularly awake yet. Of course, with ghosts it was hard to tell. But usually, Sir Nicholas was always in the mood for a chat. This morning he merely informed Minerva that she had pinned her Head Girl badge onto her robes upside down. She quickly corrected that mistake and also tried to fix her messy ponytail on her way down into the Entrance Hall in the semi-darkness.

"Good morning, Minerva," Professor Dumbledore greeted her. He had already been waiting by the doors.

"I'm not so sure it is, Professor," she replied significantly less brightly, upon which her Head of House merely arched an eyebrow. "Sorry, sir, it's just my brothers and I promised not to go back into the forest, and I really would have liked to keep that promise."

Dumbledore's expression softened. "Here, have some hot chocolate. I always find that cheers me up at four thirty in the morning." He conjured two steaming mugs for them. Apparently, he had alerted someone in the kitchens to this little early-morning excursion of theirs.

Minerva thanked him and vowed to keep her attitude in check. Yes, it was early, but if anyone had reason to complain, it was Professor Dumbledore. But he looked as alert as though he regularly got up at this hour. He now turned towards the front doors and muttered something under his breath that made them open up.

They left the castle and briskly crossed the quiet and deserted grounds. To her surprise, the hot chocolate really did make Minerva feel better. But as soon as they reached the trees of the dark forest, she made her mug vanish so she could hold her wand more firmly and concentrate on the path they were taking. Not that she knew which path that was, but Dumbledore didn't slow down much other than to light up his wand.

"Are you sure that's a good idea, sir?" Minerva asked hesitantly.

"Well, I would much rather not break my neck. My bones are more brittle than yours, you know," Dumbledore replied cheerfully.

It really was terribly dark under the trees, even though they hadn't gone far yet. It brought back unpleasant memories. "I don't mind seeing where we're going either, but it means that they can see us, too."

"And who, pray tell, are _they_ exactly?" Dumbledore asked curiously.

"For starters, how about that Acromantula that you seemed so uninterested in kicking out of here?"

"Why would I be interested in kicking anyone out of here? This isn't my forest and whoever lives in it deserves a home as much as you and I do."

Minerva huffed. "I'm fine with them living in here. I just don't want to be attacked again."

Dumbledore raised his wand a little higher so he could see her face. "You make a valid argument. It is certainly prudent to exercise caution when one ventures into this forest alone. But since we're not alone, I think the light will be fine."

Since she could hardly disagree with him, Minerva distracted herself by asking, "Have you ever gone into the Forbidden Forest alone as a student, Professor?"

"Of course not."

"Would you tell me if you had?"

Dumbledore's lips twitched. "Of course not."

Minerva smiled to herself and the tension in her wand hand relaxed a little.

It wasn't much longer until Professor Dumbledore stopped. They had reached a part of the forest where the canopy of the trees was so dense that no sunlight would have reached the thicket that covered the forest floor, not in the past seven days or even weeks. It also seemed highly unlikely that anyone but them had been here in that time.

Still, Professor Dumbledore waved his wand and muttered, "Homenum Revelio!" When nothing happened, he gave a satisfied nod. "I believe this will do. There are no instructions as to the plant the dew should be collected from, but a four-leaf clover is preferred, as it can never hurt to add a little bit of luck, if you can find it," he told her. "As for the chrysalis, keep your eyes peeled for buckthorn or nightshade as those are two of the Hawk Moth's favourite host plants."

Minerva nodded and started searching. In order to do so, she had to crouch low to the ground and also lower her wand to use its light to identify the plants before her. It made the back of her neck prickle because she couldn't help imagining how easy it would be for someone or something to jump her from behind like this. That kind of thinking opened the door for suspicious shadows to spring up at the edge of her vision. And then she actually thought she heard the tell-tale clicking sounds those Fire Crab–Acromantula mutations had made. A sound she wouldn't forget because she still heard it in her nightmares every now and then.

She knew it wasn't real and yet she froze, her heart hammering in her chest and her hand shaking, as she stared into the darkness, willing it to stare back at her.

"Minerva."

She felt Dumbledore's warm hand on her shoulder, and it pulled her back out of her own head. Suddenly she knew that she was perfectly safe.

"It's all right. There is no danger," Dumbledore assured her.

Minerva stood to face him. "I know. I'm… my mind was just playing tricks on me."

"There is no greater torture than the one we devise for ourselves," Dumbledore nodded slowly, and it was perfectly clear to Minerva that he was speaking from experience. "We can try again some other time," he offered.

But Minerva wouldn't hear of it. "No, I think I'm close to finding one. And I'm fine," she added when Dumbledore looked sceptical. "Really, how could anyone be worried about anything when they're with you?"

"Quite easily, I imagine, as I myself worry all the time," Dumbledore replied, throwing Minerva off a little.

"But are you worried about anything that's in this forest?" she asked.

"No," Dumbledore said simply.

"Then neither am I," Minerva decided and got back to searching.

This time, her determination not to fail kept her wild imagination at bay, or perhaps, it had more to do with the fact that Dumbledore stayed suspiciously close to her now. The additional light from his wand (that seemed even brighter and far-reaching than her own) certainly helped.

The sun still hadn't come up yet, certainly not inside the forest, when Minerva finally discovered what she was looking for. Professor Dumbledore handed her a small silver knife and two phials so she could cut the four-leaf clover with several drops of fresh morning dew on it and store it separately from the Death's-head Hawk Moth chrysalis. Dumbledore then waved his wand over both phials, muttering a conservation spell meant to preserve both ingredients until they would be added to the potion.

"You won't object to me keeping them safe in the meantime?" he asked. "The Animagus Potion and its ingredients need to be kept away from direct sunlight as to not risk mutations."

Minerva nodded and with another flick of Dumbledore's wand, the two phials disappeared to wherever he thought they were safest. Wherever that was, Minerva trusted him to know best. But mostly, she was relieved that they had successfully accomplished what they had set out to do and hadn't traipsed through the forest in vain.

"Is that the hint of a smile I detect? The forest wouldn't be growing on you, now would it?" Dumbledore joked.

"Hardly," Minerva said. "But I might feel a little better about it, or at least I understand what you said about the ways we find to torture ourselves – even if it's only in our heads." Perhaps it was the twilight or the success of having procured the first two ingredients, but it gave her the audacity to ask, "That torture you mentioned... What's... what's yours, sir?"

"One that is not meant to be shared, I'm afraid," Dumbledore rebuffed her not unexpectedly, but also not too harshly.

"But doesn't that make it even worse?" Minerva asked quietly.

"Naturally," Dumbledore replied and swiftly started heading back towards the castle now.

Minerva hurried to follow him, because even though they hadn't met another living creature yet, she didn't want to stay behind and wait for that to change.

It was Professor Dumbledore who spoke next. "So, what's the plan for our first match against Hufflepuff? Herbert, that is, Professor Beery has been trying to talk me into making a wager with him and I would like to know what I'm getting myself into."

Even if she had thought it likely that Professor Dumbledore would bet on a Quidditch game, Minerva would have had her suspicions about why he had chosen to bring it up now. "You're trying to distract me," she said.

"If you'd prefer to walk in silence, we can do that, of course," Dumbledore replied.

"No, I can talk Quidditch all day," Minerva assured him. "I just mean you're trying to help manage my anxiety, but you won't let me help with whatever weighs on your mind."

"And you think there is something wrong with that?"

"It's not fair. Why should you be alone?"

"Because," Dumbledore said calmly, "as unusual as this excursion has been, I am still your teacher."

"You're also human," Minerva dared to point out.

She hadn't always felt that way. As a kid, Dumbledore had seemed more like an ideal than a person, a folktale hero of sorts, a very nice one certainly, but larger than life and not quite real. In the past six years, however, she had been around him enough to learn that that particular vision of Albus Dumbledore was not only ridiculously naïve, but hurtful even.

As was so often the case, Professor Dumbledore seemed to understand exactly what she was saying. That it was, in fact, a compliment. "And you are very kind," he said.

Which wasn't really an answer because it led them right back to her, not to him.

"But I'm not worthy of your trust."

"No, you are worth a lot more than that."

Minerva had no idea what to make of that response, other than to accept that she wouldn't convince Dumbledore to talk about something he didn't want to talk about.

"Hufflepuff has two new Chasers this year," she said eventually as they continued to walk side by side back up to the castle. "So I've been telling our Beaters to focus all of their Bludger attacks on them to throw them off their game as much as possible. Also, their Keeper's got a new Cleansweep Five, which is a great broom, unless you're playing Keeper and can't handle your broom's sudden acceleration yet. I expect he'll overshoot his mark a couple of times at least and leave the goalposts undefended and ready for us to score."

"Oh my, sounds as if you've done a lot of reconnaissance," Dumbledore noted.

"It's my final year. Last chance to win the Quidditch Cup. So yes, I guess it's a little bit like going to war," Minerva admitted.

"As long as there are no casualties."

"It's Quidditch, sir. It's all part of the game."

"Is it only a game? I wonder sometimes," Dumbledore said as they were nearing the edge of the forest.

Glad to see daylight again, or at least the beginning of dawn, Minerva quickened her steps. "All I can tell you, Professor, is that we're going to flatten Hufflepuff with everything we've got."

"Then we should make sure to secure the next ingredient before Professor Beery might decide to withhold it from us," Dumbledore said and directed them not towards the front doors of the castle but towards the greenhouses. "Luckily, we won't have to go out of our way to get our hands on a Mandrake leaf because we currently have some in our greenhouses."

"Greenhouse three, I know," Minerva nodded, and when she saw Dumbledore's raised eyebrow, she added, "Which I only found out by accident."

Dumbledore hummed dubiously, but he didn't say anything and unlocked greenhouse three. Luckily, the Mandrakes were still sleeping when they approached them and Minerva collected the leaf she needed.

"Now, it just so happens that we'll have a full moon tonight," Dumbledore told her on the way back to the Entrance Hall. "So you will need to carry this leaf in your mouth from today until the next full moon."

"You're kidding!" Minerva said, looking from the leaf to her Head of House. She had known that a Mandrake leaf was needed, of course, but she hadn't taken the rest of the instructions seriously. In six years of Potions lessons, she had learned of many potent potions that needed time to stew, but not in her own saliva.

"I'm afraid not," Dumbledore replied, but he didn't sound very sorry.

"What if I swallow it?" Minerva asked.

"Then we shall have to start over again."

"What if I choke on it?" she said wryly.

Dumbledore gave her a look, letting her know that if she were to make more jokes about the loss of her own life, these lessons would end sooner rather than later. It wasn't only a joke, though. She actually thought it was a valid concern when she pictured herself falling asleep with that leaf in her mouth.

Apparently, so did Professor Dumbledore. "The leaf cannot be magically altered in any way. But this should help." He pointed his wand at her throat. It tickled slightly, and she was sure that if the leaf were to get caught there, it would simply dissolve now rather than harm her in any way. Of course, that wouldn't get her any closer to her actual goal.

With a sigh, Minerva inspected the leaf in her hand and then put it in her mouth. It tasted bitter and burned on her tongue. She wanted to spit it back out immediately. The thought that she couldn't, not for another month, brought tears to her eyes.

"You do remember that no one is forcing you to do this," Dumbledore said gently.

She could only glare at him since she hadn't figured out how to talk with this thing in her mouth yet.

"I see, well, that was all we could accomplish today. But since it is barely even time for breakfast, I'd say that's rather a lot, don't you?"

Minerva would have thanked him, but she was trying too hard not to retch. She wasn't exactly sure what would come out of her mouth if she opened it now.

"There is no need for words," Dumbledore told her. "I shall see you at breakfast, or perhaps," he added, eyeing the nauseated look on her face, "in class."

Suddenly Minerva was glad that she couldn't speak or she might have begged him not to leave her like this. But Professor Dumbledore had neither come up with this nor had he particularly wanted her to do it.

So Minerva returned to Gryffindor Tower, without any idea how she would make it through the next 29 days.

* * *

In short, it was torture.

Minerva tried different things like sticking the leaf to the roof of her mouth or bunching it up in the corner of her left or right cheek, but it would always get in the way again eventually. Whenever that happened, she talked like someone had hit her with a Tongue-Tying Curse, which caused the other teachers to give her rather strange looks.

In the meantime, Minerva slept as little as possible and ate even less, and during Quidditch, she regularly had a coughing fit when she had gone too fast and nearly swallowed the bloody thing. Her teammates tried to send her to the hospital wing several times. She wished she could have actually gone to see Madam Hailstone, but she was afraid that the matron would make her spit out the Mandrake leaf. Also, she didn't want to get herself or Professor Dumbledore in trouble. They had agreed not to advertise what Minerva was attempting to do. Not just yet anyway when she was so close to failing her very first actual task.

But she didn't.

Four nightmarish weeks later, she burst back into Professor Dumbledore's office. "'ull 'oon!"

"Come again?" he said, looking up from his work.

Minerva shifted the Mandrake leaf into a different corner of her mouth. "Full moon," she repeated.

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and nodded. "I must say I admire your discipline. If I remember correctly, I swallowed that leaf three times..."

"Thank you, sir, but could we...?"

"Oh, yes." He stood and opened a window to check the sky. It was a bit cloudy, but not too much. Just now, some of the clouds shifted and allowed the moonlight to flood the school grounds. Honestly, Minerva didn't know what she would have done if the moon had stayed hidden tonight. Jumping from the top of the North Tower came to mind.

"We should go now," Dumbledore decided and once again he led her out of the castle. But this time they didn't need to go all the way into the Forbidden Forest. They stopped in a quiet corner of the school grounds where they were completely bathed in moonlight.

Dumbledore conjured a small crystal phial and finally Minerva was allowed to take the leaf out of her mouth and place it inside the phial. She tried not to look at the leaf too closely. It was pretty disgusting, all chewed up and steeped in her saliva, but then again, that was the whole point.

Next, Dumbledore instructed her throughout the process of creating the potion by adding to the moonstruck crystal phial the other ingredients, the silver teaspoon of dew, the Hawk Moth chrysalis and a hair from her own head. The mixture still didn't look finished, but that's because it wasn't.

"It will now have to rest undisturbed in a quiet, dark place until the next electrical storm," Dumbledore said and Minerva was more than fine with letting him keep it safe.

She wasn't fine with the waiting, however. "What kind of instructions are these? What if it's months or years until the next lightning storm? It's as if they don't even want anyone to become an Animagus."

"Or, the purpose is simply to make quite sure that you're ready for the power you will eventually receive."

"I'm ready now."

"No," Dumbledore said. "You're not." Before Minerva could comment, he continued, "You will now have to proceed by placing the tip of your wand over your heart and saying the Animagus incantation at every sunrise and sundown. You have to do it at the correct times and you cannot omit a single occasion, not for Quidditch practice, homework or anything else. No matter how long it takes. It can feel like menial work after some time, but it is vital in preparing yourself for the transformation."

Her Head of House paused as though to give her time to protest or change her mind, but she didn't. Now that Minerva could eat and talk again without impediment, getting up at sunrise seemed like a small price to pay.

"In fact, I think I would like you to do it in my presence, just to be safe," Dumbledore said thoughtfully.

"You want me to come to your office every sunrise and sundown?" Minerva clarified.

"For now. If there should be no lightning storms until your graduation, I will, of course, not insist on you coming back to Hogwarts twice a day." The corner of Dumbledore's mouth twitched, but Minerva did not find that funny at all.

* * *

**A/N: So, as far as I know, there is no official word on whether Dumbledore is an Animagus or what his Animagus form would be. All we know is that his Patronus is a phoenix, and so I sort of went from there. While it seems only logical that Albus is an Animagus, I felt like there should be a reason why he doesn't seem to use that skill. But of course, that's only my personal interpretation. Hope you like it. Feel free to let me know your thoughts on the matter. :)**


	22. Rumours

**A/N: I just watched Daniel Radcliffe read the first chapter of The Philosopher's Stone, which was a lot of fun. Hopefully, you'll have fun with this chapter, too. Thank you for all your comments on the last chapter!**

* * *

**22\. Rumours**

"Do you really think they could be shagging?"

"I dunno. But what else would they be doing? It's not as if she needs Remedial Transfiguration."

"Yeah, but she's always going on about doing the right thing."

"Perhaps she likes doing something else now."

Alison and Drew giggled as they entered the dormitory. When they saw that Minerva was in there, lying on her bed, they went red in the face and shut up so fast as if they had been hit with a Silencing Charm.

After her practice session with Professor Dumbledore at sunup this morning, Minerva had decided to return to the dormitory to rest before class and skip breakfast. Alison and Drew, who had just come back from the Great Hall, had clearly not expected her, and their shock caused Minerva to suspect that they had just been gossiping about her. She didn't usually care, but they were acting really weird.

Drew busied herself with packing her bag, but she dropped everything she touched, and Alison tried so hard not to look Minerva's way that she walked straight into her bedpost. When they had finally managed to leave the dormitory, Augusta entered and she looked after the other two girls with a frown. They had started giggling again before the door to the dormitory had even closed behind them.

"What's wrong with those two?" Minerva wondered. Augusta was usually the one to ask about these things.

"Search me," she said with a shrug, but her shoulders were way too stiff and she, too, was avoiding Minerva's gaze.

"What's wrong with you?" Minerva amended her question.

Augusta plopped down on her bed lazily, but not without hitting her head on the headboard. "Nothing."

Minerva laughed. "You do know you're a terrible liar, don't you? It's one of your more endearing qualities, actually."

Heaving a sigh, Augusta sat back up and looked at her. "Okay, I wasn't going to say anything, though I am curious, mind you. But I reckon we're friends, so you'd tell me if there was something to tell."

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Minerva was beginning to get impatient.

"Because you're not reading _Witch Weekly."_

"Of course not," Minerva snorted. "I have better things to do with my time."

"Yeah, but you might find this week's edition rather... uh... interesting." Augusta rummaged in her bag and handed her a copy of the glossy magazine.

It was bright pink, which Minerva already found offensive before she had even opened it. Since she doubted that Drew and Alison would get so worked up about the cooking recipes or the advice column on household pests, Minerva skipped to the celebrity news section, where she discovered an article about Professor Dumbledore. She skimmed it, but lowered the magazine after only a minute.

"This is just more of the same old rubbish they've been writing about him for ages."

Augusta shook her head. "Next page."

Annoyed, Minerva turned the page and read more closely.

"_Albus Dumbledore is clearly a man of many secrets, but some of them might have nothing to do with the fate of the wizarding community. Sources at Hogwarts say that he has recently been seen locked in his office at all hours of the day – and night – with one of his female over-age students. While not remarkably beautiful, this particular girl is top of her class and generally admired for her outstanding academic achievements. Could a promising and exceptionally talented girl like that have turned the head – and captured the heart – of a perpetual bachelor like Albus Dumbledore?"_

"WHAT?" Now it was Minerva's turn to hit her head because she had jumped to her feet so suddenly that she had forgotten that she was now taller than her four-poster bed. "Bloody hell!"

"Oh, this is bad. You don't usually swear," Augusta observed from a safe distance.

"Of course, this is bad! This is..." Minerva was too angry to finish that sentence or even to think clearly.

"So," said Augusta, drawing the word out slowly, "they got it wrong then?"

Minerva rounded on her like a dragon preparing to spit fire. "You didn't just seriously ask me that!"

Augusta scrambled back into a corner of her bed. "Well, he likes you. He's always liked you."

"Not like that!" Minerva hissed.

"Okay, okay, I believe you!" Augusta threw her hands into the air in surrender. "I never really thought you would... It's not like you at all. Although, since it's Dumbledore and he's so powerful and really not that bad-looking for his age... I mean, would you have said no if he had tried to... you know."

With a cry of outrage, Minerva started beating Augusta over the head with the rolled-up magazine.

"Never mind! Never mind!" Augusta yelled.

Minerva flung the magazine into a corner and dropped onto Augusta's bed to take a breath and think. "All right, it's not a complete disaster. No one reads this crap anyway."

"Well, I wouldn't exactly say 'no one'," Augusta objected, hiding behind her pillow.

"No one of consequence," Minerva revised her statement.

Augusta seemed to decide that it was safer not to argue and Minerva held on to that thought like a lifeline. So what if the likes of Alison and Drew were gossiping about her? The nature of their conversations might make her uncomfortable, but they couldn't harm her in any way, or, more importantly, Professor Dumbledore. Still, Minerva was glad that they didn't have Transfiguration today, even though she hated feeling like that. She wanted to find the witch who had written that article and strangle her. Who were her 'sources at Hogwarts' anyway?

That answer did not present itself to Minerva, but she did get a lot of funny looks from other students. Many more than she had hoped. But it was the teachers' behaviour that she hadn't expected. Professor Sowerby glared at her disapprovingly, even though Minerva's spell work was perfect, and Professor Beery kept clearing his throat as if meaning to say something to her and then thinking better of it.

Finally, Professor Narramore passed her in the corridor and muttered, "I told you your obsession would eventually lead to such depravity."

That's when Minerva lost it.

"IT'S NOT TRUE, YOU SILLY, OLD HAG!"

Everyone within earshot (and Minerva had screamed rather loudly) stopped and stared. Including Professor Narramore. Before she could come to her senses and realise that she was still a teacher, albeit a laughable one, and could punish any student for speaking to her like that, Minerva ran for it.

But it wasn't long until a timid-looking second-year approached her. "Er... the headmaster wants to see you."

Minerva groaned. Of course, Professor Narramore had lodged a complaint directly with the headmaster. She wondered if yelling at a teacher was a serious enough offense to revoke her Head Girl status. With any other teacher, Minerva would never have done it, but she simply couldn't keep her temper in check when it came to Divination. Certainly not when she was already on edge.

Dreading the moment when she would have to face Professor Dippet, Minerva slowly made her way to the headmaster's office on the third floor. "Beedle the Bard," she said when she stood in front of the gargoyle that was guarding it. As Head Girl Minerva was kept informed about the current password (so far, it had always been more or less famous authors), but she had never used it before.

Now, the gargoyle stepped aside and revealed a circular moving stone staircase that brought her up to a door that swung open as soon as she knocked. Entering the headmaster's office for the first time would have been fascinating, but Minerva had no time to take any of it in. All she saw right now was Headmaster Dippet sitting behind his desk and Professor Dumbledore standing beside it.

It took all of her self-control not to think of what Augusta had said about Dumbledore not being bad-looking. Minerva decided to look at Professor Dippet for the time-being.

"Thank you for coming, Miss McGonagall," the headmaster said and he sounded very solemn, though Minerva could only compare it to his speeches at the start- and end-of-term feasts. "I assume you know why you're here?"

"Yes, Professor, and I realise that my behaviour was very inappropriate and I will apologise to Professor Narramore..." Minerva faltered because Professor Dippet's expression had changed from shocked to confused while Professor Dumbledore was shaking his head almost imperceptibly.

"Professor Narramore?" echoed the headmaster. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

Trying to backpedal rather inelegantly, Minerva said, "Then... I guess I do not know why I'm here."

"Oh," said Dippet, now even more surprised. "Then you haven't read...?"

Suddenly Minerva understood, and she had only two choices – she could either be completely mortified or she could be annoyed. Needless to say, she went with the latter. "Don't tell me it's about that ridiculous article! Professor, surely a man of your intelligence must know that nothing that magazine publishes is even remotely close to the truth!"

Thankfully, Professor Dippet seemed willing to overlook the thinly veiled insult in her words, and Professor Dumbledore's lips curled up into an amused little smile.

"Actually, they do have excellent recipes, but no matter," Dippet cleared his throat. "I realise that _Witch Weekly Magazine _has somewhat of a bad reputation, but nevertheless this is a serious allegation."

"I believe the word you're looking for is gossip, Armando," Dumbledore spoke for the first time. "As I am not aware of anyone having made an actual allegation."

"Allegation, rumour, gossip… be that as it may," Dippet said. "I'm sure you understand, Albus, that as headmaster I have to follow up on whatever it is. The safety of the students is, after all, of the utmost importance."

"Which is why I have answered your question – as offensive as it might have been." Dumbledore sounded no longer amused.

Dippet looked rather unhappy as well. "I know you did, but I'll need to hear it from her, Albus." The headmaster focused on Minerva again. "So, Miss McGonagall, I regret that I must ask you this, but is it true that you've been spending time with Professor Dumbledore outside of class?"

That was such a broad question that Minerva would have needed to answer it with yes even before she'd started training to become an Animagus. But now was probably not the time to point that out. "It is, Professor."

"And what is the nature of those… meetings?" Dippet asked, but he looked as though he really didn't want to know, which would have been almost comical.

In fact, when Minerva glanced at Professor Dumbledore now, he gave her a small smile.

But when the headmaster noticed that little exchange between them, he completely misinterpreted it. "I can ask Professor Dumbledore to leave the room if that would make it easier for you to speak freely," he offered Minerva in what he probably thought was a kind gesture.

"What? I'm not scared of Professor Dumbledore," Minerva burst out, and on second thought she added, "Respectfully, sir."

Dumbledore suppressed a chuckle.

Dippet looked at him askance. "Do you really think this is funny, Albus?"

"Only insofar as this is completely ridiculous and, quite honestly, a waste of all of our precious time."

"Is that so? You two have somewhere else to be then?" the headmaster asked sharply.

"Actually, yes, sir, because Professor Dumbledore has been teaching me to become an Animagus, and it's important that I say the incantation at every sunrise and every sundown," Minerva said quickly now to end this.

Professor Dippet looked at her, not surprised because Dumbledore must have already told him this, but still deliberating. "And this was your idea?"

"Yes, sir," Minerva confirmed.

"And that's all there is to it?"

Minerva fought the urge to roll her eyes. "Yes, sir."

"An Animagus… well, of course it fits…" Dippet muttered more to himself than anyone else while he looked from one to the other. "All right then, you can go, Miss McGonagall. I just had to ask. You understand."

She didn't, actually, but she wasn't going to keep arguing with the headmaster and simply turned towards the door.

"Oh, and Miss McGonagall?" Dippet stopped her.

"Yes, Professor?"

"Good luck to you."

Minerva thanked him and left.

She hadn't gotten far before Professor Dumbledore caught up with her. Neither one of them said anything, but Minerva automatically followed him to his study, where he opened the door for her.

"After you," he said.

That's when Minerva hesitated. "Are you sure, Professor?"

"I don't think we can make matters much worse, do you?" he replied with an almost mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

Minerva snorted and went inside to sit in her usual chair.

"However, I do want to apologise to you," Dumbledore said while he sat down as well. "I must admit that I did not foresee this outcome when we agreed not to make your ambitions common knowledge."

"It'll die down again," Minerva said in an attempt to be nonchalant about this.

"Undoubtedly, but I still think it would be wise to stop this in its tracks by making the truth no longer appear like a secret."

Not sure what Professor Dumbledore was suggesting, Minerva said quickly, "I'm not setting the record straight by talking to anyone from _Witch Weekly!"_

"Of course not, nor would I expect you to. But perhaps you would be willing to talk to a different magazine." Dumbledore pointed to the newest edition of _Transfiguration Today._

Surprised, Minerva needed a moment to consider this. "Do you think they would be interested?"

"You are the first witch to try to become an Animagus in this century and also the only one with Transfiguration skills to match. As such, they would most definitely be interested in you," Dumbledore pointed out. "I would have suggested it earlier, but I did not wish to add pressure to a process that is already challenging. Under these new circumstances, though…"

He trailed off, but Minerva understood what he was saying. And if Dumbledore thought that it was better not to let these rumours go unanswered, she would trust his judgment as she usually did. "I'll talk to them," she agreed. "But only if it's about Transfiguration and nothing else. I will not talk about you." She cringed. "That… sounded harsher than I meant it."

"Oh no, I'm with you," Dumbledore said lightly. "I have no idea why people won't tire of talking about me. Personally, I find myself perfectly boring."

Minerva laughed but more in disbelief than anything else. "You're not boring, sir. But I'm sorry I gave them something new to talk about."

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Dumbledore assured her. "Other than perhaps what exactly happened between you and Professor Narramore today."

"Uh… is it sundown yet?" Minerva asked, glancing at her watch and quickly trying to change the subject.

* * *

The interview went very well, even though Minerva looked uncomfortable throughout the whole thing.

Albus sympathized. He never talked to the press when he could avoid it either. But in this case, he had felt that it was rather unavoidable. Not because of his reputation, but because of hers. Albus was quite used to the rumours surrounding his person. They were like moths drawn to the flame that was his unfortunate fame. It was tiresome, of course, and in this case downright insulting, but still mostly harmless. For him, anyway. Minerva was way too young to be dragged down by something like this. Also, he didn't want to imagine any of this getting back to her father. Luckily, he highly doubted that Reverend McGonagall was an avid subscriber of _Witch Weekly._

Anyway, this new interview would shine a light where it belonged – on her talent and remarkable accomplishments. The editor-in-chief of _Transfiguration Today,_ having been on friendly terms with Albus for years, had been very accommodating. He had let them choose who they wanted to do the interview with (unsurprisingly, Minerva had chosen a female reporter), and she had kept the personal questions to a minimum. The magazine had also promised to rush the interview to the printers, but they would still have to wait for the next edition to be published.

That meant another couple of days of the rumour madness that had swept Hogwarts Castle, though it had begun to die down already. Especially since most of the teachers had now learned the truth, which was a blessing, as Horace's smile had been truly unnerving.

"My, my, Albus, I never realised you were such a daredevil! But really, with a student…"

"Horace, if you wish for us to remain friends, I beg you not to finish that sentence."

Conversations like that were, perhaps, the most irksome. Even the people closest to him seemed willing to believe virtually anything about him.

Of course, Horace had quickly changed his tune. "But I never thought it was true for even a minute, really. Although, if she wasn't a student… I can see the appeal…"

All in all, Albus preferred to keep to himself for a while or to the company of those students who had already moved on from this, like the group of Gryffindors that greeted him now as they passed him in the corridor. Upon closer inspection, Albus noticed that it was the Gryffindor Quidditch team returning from practice. The only one missing was their captain.

Albus glanced at his watch. It was nearly sundown. He suspected that Minerva had stayed behind at the Quidditch stadium to do her incantations. He had given her permission to proceed on her own while they waited for the article to be published and for these rumours to die down. But he didn't feel particularly good about that decision. After all, her safety should precede any other concerns.

So Albus made his way down to the Quidditch pitch. As he neared the changing rooms, he heard her voice saying the incantation, telling him that it was safe to enter. But he stayed in the doorway as to not disturb her concentration.

Wand tip over her heart, Minerva was sitting on the floor, muttering, "Amato Animo Animato Animagus. Amato Animo Animato Animagus. Amato Animo Animato Animagus…"

As everything seemed to proceed normally and he knew that she wouldn't react kindly to him coming to check on her unnecessarily, Albus was about to turn away when he heard her gasp.

Minerva was no longer sitting. She had keeled over, her body convulsing and her pupils dilated unnaturally, as she was slowly suffocating from the inside.

Albus hurried over to her and placed the tip of his own wand over her heart. "Breathe, Minerva! Breathe!" he commanded her, the sharpness of his voice the best tool to break through the haze that clouded her eyes.

Snapping back out of it, Minerva drew a shaky breath while her pupils slowly returned to normal, the convulsions stopped and she went still again. Disoriented, she blinked up at him and then the life returned to her.

"There was a second heartbeat!" she said in a rush as if she expected him to disagree. "I felt it!"

"I thought you might," Albus nodded.

She barely seemed to have heard him. "I had a second heart beating in my chest!" she said, still dazed. "That's impossible!"

"I think you know that it isn't."

"It was so strong. It felt like it was trying to take over!"

"That's because it is. And you will have to let it," Albus reminded her.

Minerva stared at him wide-eyed. "But it felt like I was going to die," she whispered.

Albus sighed. Watching her go through this process wasn't easy, which was exactly why he had originally said no. "In a way, you are. Don't forget that you must shed this body entirely to change into a different one."

For the first time, she looked at him as though she truly understood the magnitude of what she was trying to do and had just realised the scope of the magic she had begun to evoke. This was where so many who attempted to become an Animagus lost control. But Albus had lost control only once in his life and he was not about to let that happen again.

"You can show no fear, Minerva," he told her unmistakably. "You have to trust in yourself. That is vital."

After a moment or two, she nodded. "Just not yet."

"No, not yet."

"What if there won't ever be a bloody storm?" she wondered while they were both sitting on the floor of the changing rooms. For a second, Albus perfectly understood where all these rumours were coming from, but he found that he didn't much care.

"Don't worry. Your time will come, Minerva."


	23. Heart of Lightning

**A/N: Due to corona craziness, I'm not working this week, which is both good and bad. On the plus side, the next chapter is done already, and I might just have another one by the end of the week. Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

**23\. Heart of Lightning**

Minerva couldn't help thinking that the Ministry of Magic had been built to impress – with its large halls of marble, the golden Fountain of Magical Brethren in the atrium and the highly polished floors and fireplaces. She had definitely felt a little tense as she had presented her wand for inspection and then taken a lift up to the second floor, watching Ministry workers as they stepped on and off the lift at different levels.

She was more relaxed now that she had met Elphinstone Urquart, who was Head of the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol and who was giving her the 'grand tour' as he called it. In fact, he seemed very eager to talk her into liking the Ministry, while Minerva had expected to come here today (with special permission to miss a day of school) to convince the Ministry to hire her. The longer Urquart talked, the more it occurred to Minerva that it might be the other way around.

She hadn't decided yet what she wanted to do, or rather, she hadn't decided where in the Ministry she would like to work most. But ever since that article about her had been published in _Transfiguration Today,_ the Ministry seemed to have decided for her that they would like an Animagus to take a more active part in Law Enforcement rather than to be tied to a desk by the judicial duties of the Wizengamot. Even the Auror Office had reached out to her without Minerva ever having applied for a position there.

Of course, she wasn't an Animagus yet, and she could only pray that she would be by the time she graduated from Hogwarts. In fact, she had prayed, or rather, she had asked her father to put in a good word for her and send a little lightning her way. She figured that couldn't hurt.

"You're lucky that you would start working here now that we have the interdepartmental memos and had the magical windows put in. It makes for a much nicer working environment. You wouldn't believe the mess and the gloomy atmosphere we used to have! And a couple of blokes from Maintenance just went on strike and now the food in the cafeteria has gotten loads better as well..."

Minerva wondered if Mr. Urquart realised that telling her all of this was perhaps not the best way to present the Ministry in a good light, but she found his disarming honesty to be extremely likeable, which, of course, also did the trick.

"It's no Hogwarts, is it?" Urquart said with a knowing smile when Minerva hadn't said anything.

"No, but it is still impressive," she quickly agreed.

"You don't look very impressed, though."

"Well, it's not really important what's on the outside, is it?" Minerva said. "It's about what's happening on the inside."

Urquart nodded approvingly. "Very well said. That is exactly why we need gifted young people like yourself to come and work here. If we manage to pass your muster, that is."

"I didn't mean to imply that it's up to me to judge," Minerva said uncomfortably.

"But it is. If you don't have an opinion and you don't voice it, then nothing will ever change, will it?" Urquart said, and Minerva was really beginning to like the man.

Perhaps he sensed that he was doing something right because he continued brightly, "Now, I was thinking you might like to accompany some of your potential new co-workers on a call to see what we're actually doing. Could I interest you in that?"

Minerva opened her mouth to say yes, that was exactly why she was here, but then her watch suddenly started to vibrate, making her jump so badly that Urquart couldn't help but notice.

"Is everything all right? There is no need for concern. You look like you can hold your own, but I can assure you that no one expects you to do perfectly without training."

"No, I'm all right. I'd be very interested in coming with you," Minerva said, but she glanced at her watch in mounting frustration. The vibrations only grew more intense.

Urquart gave her a funny look. "You know it is part of my job to tell when I'm not being told the whole truth."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Urquart, it's just... there's a storm brewing at Hogwarts," Minerva decided to just tell him.

"I'm afraid I don't follow," he said, looking apologetic. "Is that a metaphor?"

"No, one can only finish the transformation process to become an Animagus during an actual lightning storm," she explained.

"And you have bewitched your watch to tell you when it's time!" Urquart's face brightened. "How ingenious."

Minerva had thought so, too, though she had mostly just wanted to make sure that she wouldn't miss it, in case it happened at night. She hadn't considered that it might be during the one time she was otherwise occupied with a job interview.

"Only rather unfortunate timing," she said. Seriously, how could anyone have such rotten luck?

"Unless you leave for Hogwarts right now," Urquart pointed out.

Surprised, Minerva looked up from her watch. "But..."

"Oh, we can reschedule, or not, it's up to you really. Either way, this is more important. We're all rooting for you here, you know. Well, I am anyway, but I'm the boss." He chuckled. "I always loved Transfiguration, though I didn't have the privilege of being taught by Albus Dumbledore."

Uncertain, Minerva hovered on the spot, but Urquart seemed honestly fine with her leaving right now and for some reason she trusted that he wouldn't mislead her. "Thank you, Mr. Urquart. I'll be in touch!" she said and then she was off.

She squeezed into a lift that was technically already full and then she raced towards the Ministry exit where she turned on the spot and Disapparated.

Minerva reappeared halfway between Hogsmeade and Hogwarts in a gust of wind. The clouds in the sky were pitch-black and churning and there was a deep rumbling that warned that worse was yet to come. The rain was coming down sideways and it pelted her face as Minerva sprinted towards the castle gates.

She had expected the gamekeeper or the caretaker to let her in, but she ran straight into the arms of Professor Dumbledore.

"I hope you didn't just run out of your interview," he said as he directed her back up to the castle with due haste. The wind was so bad that she could barely hear him.

"No, well, sort of, but it's fine," Minerva shouted back. "Quite honestly, they seem to want me pretty badly."

"Of course, they do," Dumbledore nodded and a bolt of lightning streaked across the sky, momentarily illuminating the dark grounds.

Minerva's heart was beating madly against her ribcage. Almost as if it was hoping to escape. But there was no escape. That much Minerva knew. The rest of her thoughts were a jumbled mess and she was immensely grateful that all she needed to do for now was to follow Professor Dumbledore.

It was only when he had brought her all the way up to the seventh floor of the castle and was pacing back and forth opposite a large, ugly tapestry that Minerva figured she should maybe ask a question.

"What are you doing, Professor?"

He didn't answer her, but he did open a door that definitely hadn't been there mere seconds ago. To her utter astonishment, Minerva stepped into a large room with a domed ceiling that was completely made out of glass and thus gave them the perfect view of the raging storm – which should have been impossible because there were more solid floors above this one. But of course, nothing was impossible at Hogwarts.

The room itself was mostly empty, but the floor was cushioned and the walls were padded as though the room expected someone to go berserk and run right into them. That did not exactly fill Minerva with confidence. But there was no time for such misgivings.

Dumbledore waved his wand and her Animagus Potion appeared in his hand from wherever he had kept it hidden all this time. Lightning struck and the potion turned blood-red.

"Remember, Minerva, show no fear. It is too late to turn back now. Trust yourself. You know what to do and you have the strength. No matter what happens, you will always find yourself in there." Dumbledore lightly touched her heart and then handed her the potion.

Minerva nodded, even though her mouth had gone completely dry. But she wanted this. She had waited for this. She was ready.

Her voice rang out clear and true when she placed her wand-tip over her heart one more time and said, "Amato Animo Animato Animagus." Then she drank the potion.

And dropped the crystal phial immediately as a burning pain shot through her veins, setting her insides on fire. Minerva curled her hands into fists and gritted her teeth so she wouldn't scream, but just as she had known before there was no escaping the pain.

Her heart thudded feebly as the second heartbeat she had come to know awoke in her chest, beating fast, twice as fast as her human heart, and also twice as strong. Her head was spinning, feeling dangerously light, as if both of her hearts were too busy fighting for dominance to actually supply her brain with oxygen.

Minerva could feel herself collapse, but she didn't feel the impact of crashing to the floor. Either the room was too soft or she was losing all sense of control over her body. She barely knew where she was anymore and so it hardly mattered that she had fallen.

Then she saw it. Standing above her, looking down on her – a cat, a silver and black Tabby cat with square markings around its green eyes. Eyes that challenged Minerva to rise now or else to never rise again.

And so Minerva let go and bid her frantic little human heart to be still. She felt her robes and shoes and glasses all meld to her skin and become one with fur, once again making her feel as though she was being swallowed whole or dropped into a cauldron of molten lava. Running into the walls didn't sound like such a bad idea anymore.

Running, climbing, sinking her claws into something... but no, that would be foolish. She just needed to breathe and to keep breathing. In and out. In and out…

Suddenly, the things she could smell multiplied. The cushioned floor that had once been spattered with pumpkin juice, the ink on Professor Dumbledore's hands, the cinders of fresh phoenix' fire on his robes, the scent of ozone in the air outside...

And she could hear mice scurrying and – mhm, mice, perhaps she should... no! – students adjusting their chairs, the tips of their feathers scratching fresh parchment as they were doing their homework, someone complaining loudly about not having been invited to tonight's Slug Party...

Minerva opened her eyes and she saw everything with the same sharpness, even in her peripheral vision. But mostly, there was Dumbledore's smile, and while rather greyish now in colour, it was no less bright.

"A cat, naturally," he muttered. "If only I were a betting man..."

Minerva opened her mouth before she remembered that the only thing she couldn't do anymore was talk. But she had paws now and a tail. Huh, that was... interesting. Her new body seemed to know exactly how to use it, though, and before long she was racing across the room, climbing the walls and jumping from one obstacle to the next (they simply appeared whenever she wished them to) in a burst of boundless energy.

Professor Dumbledore sat in the middle of the room and observed her quietly but cheerfully, a lot more so than he had looked to be in months.

Eventually, Minerva grew tired and she thought that it was about time to thank her teacher, so she returned to where he was sitting.

He understood her intentions, but he said, "You know I cannot change you back."

Minerva sat back on her haunches and tried to visualise her human form as clearly as she could. That should have been all she needed to do, but nothing happened. She was still very much a cat and very much stuck. She looked up at Professor Dumbledore slightly panicked. He had never mentioned this when he had warned her of the dangers. Sure, permanent mutations sounded worse, but Minerva didn't exactly fancy spending the rest of her life as a cat either.

"Ah, yes, that can sometimes happen," Dumbledore said, perfectly unconcerned. "There is nothing to do but wait."

She stared at him. Surely, he wasn't serious...

"Care for a game?" he asked with a smile on his lips, pointing towards a chessboard that had appeared on the floor between them.

Apparently, he was serious. And since Minerva couldn't just walk out of this room and go down to dinner (opening the door alone would be a bit of a problem), she agreed.

Playing Wizard's Chess as a cat, however, also had its challenges. She couldn't direct her pieces with her voice, so she had to use her paw, which frightened them so much that they kept running off the board screaming their little heads off. Professor Dumbledore regularly had to coax them to come back, which, Minerva thought, was also the reason why he was winning.

When she had lost her Queen after a rather unfortunate move that had resulted from a miscommunication and Dumbledore had brought his Bishop in position to say, "Check," Minerva felt ready to explode in anger.

And she did, burying the chessboard and all the remaining pieces underneath her once again fully human body.

While the chess pieces were protesting loudly, Dumbledore chuckled. "I thought that might work."

Minerva pushed herself back up into a sitting position and then she flung her arms around Professor Dumbledore's neck in a fierce hug. It was terribly inappropriate, but she had never been filled with so much joy and relief, and she owed it all to him. After a moment, though, she got embarrassed and scrambled back onto her feet.

"Sorry, sir."

"That's all right," Dumbledore said. "I do believe a little celebration is in order. What you have done here today is quite simply astounding."

"Except for when I couldn't change back at first," she said, a little more critical than her teacher.

"Something that can be easily fixed. With enough practice, you'll be able to slip in and out of your animal form at will. An advanced Animagus won't even require a wand," Dumbledore told her.

"Right. Uh, where did I...?"

Smiling, Dumbledore handed her wand back to her, which she had dropped earlier.

"Thank you," Minerva said.

"Don't mention it."

"No, really," Minerva insisted. "Thank you. I..." But she choked up.

The storm outside had passed, but everything inside of her was still in upheaval. In a good way. She had been chasing this dream for so long, it was surreal to think that it was now no longer only a dream. She didn't know how to express how grateful she was. To Professor Dumbledore. Who had sacrificed so much time and energy and patience, even parts of his reputation.

All for her.

Unlike Minerva and the sky above them, Dumbledore seemed perfectly at ease now. There was a soft glow in his eyes when he said, "I often find that when we are unable to come up with the right words, it is because they are, in fact, most unnecessary."

As always, Minerva felt that he was right.

* * *

**A/N: I don't think it's clear whether Dumbledore knew and used the Room of Requirement or not. At the Yule Ball he makes it sound as if he doesn't know its exact location and how it works, but that was just meant to be a funny anecdote, and he was trying to make a point about not knowing all of Hogwarts' secrets. And Harry of course theorizes that both Flitwick and Dumbledore would have never needed the room to hide something because they were model pupils. But I think Dumbledore knows a lot more than he lets on. Of course, that doesn't necessarily mean that he would go and use the room, but it was the perfect place for Minerva to transform safely, so I just went with it. **


	24. Once More, with Feeling

**24\. Once More, with Feeling**

Minerva had known highs before, but this was different. This was beyond that. For a couple of days, she felt as though she had accomplished everything she had ever set out to do. But of course, that wasn't the least bit true.

Despite her assurances to the contrary to Professor Dumbledore, she had fallen a little bit behind on her scheduled revisions for the upcoming N.E.W.T.s, and then there was Quidditch. In their last two games, Gryffindor had flattened Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, but so had Slytherin and now the match between the two rival houses would decide who was going to win the Cup.

And it hit her again that this was it. Her last game. Her last chance.

When she mentioned that to Professor Dumbledore, he said, "Well, I suppose it's not too late to become a professional Quidditch player after all."

Minerva was still going to his office to practise her Animagus transformation, though it was mostly out of habit rather than necessity, now that the change itself was no longer dangerous. Or perhaps, it was simply because she seemed unable to stop. Or because he hadn't told her to stop.

"You know that's not what I want," she said dismissively.

"Then what do you want?" Dumbledore asked.

She thought about that. "I suppose I don't want it to end."

Dumbledore surveyed her over his half-moon spectacles, and though his X-ray vision could be exhausting at times, Minerva knew she was going to miss it. "But if there were no endings, then how could there ever be new beginnings?"

Perhaps she would miss his enigmatic answers a little less. Still, Minerva laughed. "That might be the least practical advice I have ever heard," she said, "Professor."

"I see. Well, how about this?" Dumbledore leaned forward in his chair. "Make smart decisions tomorrow."

"I always make smart decisions," Minerva replied.

Dumbledore only harrumphed slightly.

* * *

After a night of fitful sleep and a quick breakfast, Minerva faced the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team in the changing rooms. They could hear the noise from the stadium. As always, the entire school had shown up to watch the match, despite the heavy rain and stiff wind. Minerva didn't mind. That was proper Scottish weather and she knew that her team was made of sterner stuff.

"Listen, everyone, you know what to do, so let's make this one count, okay? Not just for Duncan and me, who won't get a do-over next year, but for all those Gryffindors cheering for us out there. That Cup has no business being in Slytherin. Let's show them what it means to fight like lions. Let's show them our pride."

The team cheered and got ready to walk onto the pitch.

Duncan sidled up to Minerva. "Feels like yesterday that we tried out for the team, doesn't it?" Minerva gave a non-committal nod. She was checking the direction of the wind. "Listen, I've been meaning to thank you for not kicking me off the team when you became captain."

"Thank me by catching the Snitch," Minerva replied.

"You bet," Duncan nodded. "But anyway, that was real decent of you."

"Not really. You've been a good Seeker ever since you recovered from your accident in our third year. If I had kicked you off the team for personal reasons, I could have just as well handed my badge back in to Professor Dumbledore," Minerva said. "Plus, it's been ages since we were together."

"Yeah, but when my granny read that you're an Animagus now, she called me a git for breaking up with you."

"I was the one who broke up with you," Minerva corrected him.

He frowned. "That's not how I remember it."

"Probably because you're a git."

"Funny." Duncan grimaced. "But also true. I'm working on that, though. So if you wanna hang out again some time…?"

Minerva snorted. Clearly, Duncan's sense of timing had not improved one bit. "Ask me that again when we've won the game," she told him and led her team out onto the pitch one last time.

* * *

It was quite possibly the worst game of Quidditch Albus had ever seen. Not because of the weather. He had cast a powerful Impervius Charm where he and the other teachers were sitting and it kept most of the rain at bay. It also wasn't that the two teams were playing poorly. Quite the opposite. They were playing with a vengeance that had little to do with a sporting competition. And Albus refused to believe that he had kept Minerva alive throughout the entire process of becoming an Animagus, simply to watch her kill herself on the Quidditch field.

Everything started with one of the Slytherin Chasers, Israr Sevazlian, who flew straight into the Gryffindor Keeper, knocking him off his broom. Sevazlian claimed that he had simply not been able to break in time, but Minerva seemed to think that he was lying because she argued about it with Madam Hooch for a good five minutes. When the game resumed, Minerva had clearly directed the Gryffindor Beaters to badger Sevazlian – and no one else – with Bludgers. In retaliation, Sevazlian stole a bat from one of his own Beaters and tried to hit one of the Gryffindor Beaters over the head with it. While defending her teammate, Minerva almost jumped onto Sevazlian's broom to stop him.

Madam Hooch awarded so many penalties that they made up for half of all the points scored. The game was tied at 110 points each, which gave Albus hope that the Snitch would be spotted soon. Unfortunately, soon was not soon enough.

Minerva currently had the Quaffle and she was racing towards the Slytherin goalposts. Sevazlian dived to head her off. He was on a clear collision course. Minerva saw him, but she refused to stop. Sevazlian crashed into her with a sickening crunch. Somehow Minerva got the Quaffle off to score, and then she was falling.

Albus had his wand ready, but before he could speak an incantation, loud gasps and shouts of surprise rose from the stands of the stadium. Minerva had changed in mid-air to become the small Tabby cat he had grown familiar with. His wand still in his hand, Albus hesitated. Cats were known for their nearly infallible righting reflex, and Minerva's feline body had indeed already begun to twist to make sure she would land on her feet.

Shaking his head, Albus lowered his wand. Which, of course, was exactly when Minerva slipped back into her human form and crashed onto the field, sending mud and raindrops flying everywhere, to lots of more yelling from the stands and the shrill sound of Madam Hooch's whistle.

Albus, who was quite ready to be done with Quidditch for the day, quickly rose from his seat to get down to the field where Madam Hooch and half of the Gryffindor team had now landed to check on Minerva.

"Well, she's out," Madam Hooch said gruffly when Albus reached them.

"I'll get her up to the hospital wing," he volunteered and then looked at the other Gryffindors. "Mr. Bayfield, looks like you're captain now. Do try to stay on your brooms, if you please."

"Uh, yes, Professor," Duncan nodded and waved for a reserve player to come in.

In the meantime, Albus transferred Minerva's unconscious body onto a stretcher and directed her up towards the castle. When he told Madam Hailstone what had happened, she shook her head.

"Why would she turn back into a human? Cats' bodies are built to survive high falls."

"I don't think it was on purpose," said Albus.

"Unfortunate is what it was. Well, with Gryffindor playing Slytherin for the Cup, it's not as if I wasn't expecting this." Muttering to herself Madam Hailstone got to work.

A concussion, several broken ribs and a collapsed lung were the result of her examination and Albus left to let her do her magic.

He hadn't gotten far before he ran into Horace, who was grinning broadly but tried to school his features when he spotted Albus.

"Horace, you are of a rather impressive build, but even you can't hide that Cup from me," Albus informed his colleague.

Looking sheepish, Horace pulled out the Quidditch Cup from behind his back. Apparently, the game had ended right after Albus had left. "What can I say? The better team won! But I feel terrible, of course. How is Minerva?"

"She'll be fine, though not very happy, I daresay," Albus replied.

"Oh, but she doesn't need this, does she? With everything she has accomplished, a little school competition should no longer be of any consequence to her!" Horace laughed.

Somehow Albus doubted that Minerva would see it that way.

* * *

When Minerva woke up again, she instantly had a feeling that the sudden quiet was a bad thing. She knew that she was lying in the hospital wing – she had expected as much – but she should have been able to hear people celebrating. Unless of course, the celebrations were taking place down in the dungeons.

As soon as Madam Hailstone came out of her office to check on her, Minerva asked her what was going on, but to her utter disbelief, the matron told her that she didn't know and didn't care. And she also refused to let any visitors in, not even her brothers, for several more hours. So when Professor Dumbledore eventually entered the hospital wing, Minerva immediately sat up straighter.

"Did we win? Did we lose? What happened?"

Dumbledore slowly approached her bed, and only then did he say, "You and I have very different ideas on what it means to make smart decisions."

"Noted, Professor," Minerva nodded impatiently. "But did we win?"

"No."

With a groan, Minerva collapsed back into her pillows. Perhaps she could take her N.E.W.T.s in here so she wouldn't have to see the smug look on Sevazlian's face or watch him hold the Quidditch Cup. Oh, she couldn't believe that she would have to leave the school with a Slytherin victory!

"I'm sorry, Professor," she said after she had stewed in her anger for a while and Professor Dumbledore had waited her out.

"For what?"

"For losing Gryffindor the championship."

Dumbledore shook his head. "I don't think anyone could accuse you of not having gone above and beyond what you could have – or should have – done. That transformation in mid-air was quite impressive. Especially since I assume that you didn't have your wand on you?"

She nodded in confirmation.

"I suspect that is also why you eventually lost control again. It takes time and experience to change without a wand."

"I know. I also had trouble focusing,"

"I hear that can happen with concussions sometimes," Dumbledore replied pointedly.

Minerva sighed. "I know you think I was being careless, but I just really wanted to win that Cup for Gryffindor and give it to you."

"Maybe you will feel better if I give this to you instead," Dumbledore said and placed something on her bedside table.

It was a see-through cube with a ruby floating inside of it that, as Minerva watched, turned into a red rose and then a red hummingbird and back into a ruby to start it all over again. On the base of the cube, it said in silver lettering: _Transfiguration Today_ Most Promising Newcomer Award.

Minerva was speechless.

"It'll be in the next edition," Dumbledore informed her. "They wanted to do a whole thing, but I told them not to. I hope I was correct in assuming that you wouldn't have wanted any fuss in the middle of your N.E.W.T. preparations."

"Um… yes, thank you, sir," Minerva nodded. "It's pretty, though."

"It is."

"Did you ever get one of these?"

"No. They didn't have them in my day."

"Huh," said Minerva.

Dumbledore smiled. "I see that makes you happy."

"Well, obviously you would have gotten one if you could have," Minerva hedged.

"That's quite all right," Dumbledore assured her. "You see, us teachers, we actually hope that our students will surpass us one day. It means that we have done something right."

Minerva tore her eyes away from the award. "Actually, I haven't passed anything yet."

"No, but surely, _Transfiguration Todays's_ Most Promising Newcomer isn't afraid of her Transfiguration N.E.W.T. exam." Dumbledore winked at her.

"No, but I am a little worried what my parents are going to say when they hear that I was in the hospital wing again," Minerva replied.

"Ah," said Dumbledore slowly, "yes, well, perhaps – just this once – there is no need to alarm them."

The thought that Professor Dumbledore wasn't eager to face her father either cheered Minerva up somewhat. But she really needed to get serious about her N.E.W.T.s, now more than ever, and she could only hope that losing the Quidditch Cup wasn't a bad omen.

* * *

"This is a library! Not a zoo!" The exasperated voice of the Hogwarts librarian echoed through the halls.

Albus smiled to himself and continued on his way. He really didn't need to get involved in everything.

"Merlin's Beard, enough with the dead birds!"

That, on the other hand, sounded worth investigating. And so Albus changed his course and entered the library. It was packed with students studying for their O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s, so he had to survey the room for a moment before he spotted the cause for the librarian's outrage.

Minerva was sitting in a corner, practising for her N.E.W.T.s, which would have been a perfectly normal sight, had it not been for the large swan she had clearly just conjured. It was a flawless conjuration with magnificent plumage and a long, formed beak – only the bird was indeed very much dead.

When Albus approached her table and Minerva saw him, she quickly made the swan disappear again. Madam Reed still looked miffed, but Albus gave her a wink and she relented. This was exactly why Albus never forgot to get the librarian a Christmas present.

"I know you'll be leaving us soon, but I would still advise you not to pick any fights with the Hogwarts staff before then," Albus said to Minerva.

"I didn't mean to. I was just practising. I don't know why they keep turning up dead today," she replied tersely.

"Well, as you know, your magic is very much tied to your emotions and right now you're squeezing the life out of it – quite literally." Albus nodded towards Minerva's right hand that was holding on to her wand so tightly that her knuckles were turning white.

She dropped her wand onto the table and leaned back in her chair.

"Anything you wish to talk about?" Albus offered, hoping to save both her and all those birds from continued torture.

Minerva stayed quiet at first, then she reached into her pocket and placed three scrolls of parchment on the table. "They all want me."

When Albus inspected the scrolls more closely, he recognised the three different insignias on them, belonging to the Magical Law Enforcement Squad, the Wizengamot Administration Services and the Auror Office.

"I believe that is what they call an embarrassment of riches," he said with a soft smile. He wasn't surprised in the least. The Ministry tried to claim the best students coming out of Hogwarts every year, and this year it really wasn't much of a competition.

"But now I'm not so sure anymore if they want me or if they just want the only Animagus currently looking for a job," Minerva said.

"So you have discovered the dilemma that those of us face who possess abilities that our peers do not," Albus nodded thoughtfully.

Minerva shot him a dark look. "You could have told me that earlier."

"I might have if I had thought that it would stand even a remote chance of convincing you more than any of the other arguments I had already tried to make," Albus replied.

That brought her up short because she couldn't deny that her mind had been made up and her heart had been set on becoming an Animagus, no matter the cost.

"But it doesn't matter," Albus continued. "Even though the Ministry's decision might not have been as informed as you hoped, it is still very much deserved."

With some of her tension leaving her, Minerva looked at the three scrolls. "Which would you choose?"

"It's not my choice to make," Albus said simply. He could hardly tell her that he was torn between wishing she wouldn't set one foot inside the Ministry, as that meant risking corruption of everything she was, and hoping she would be strong enough to go on and do what he couldn't.

"So you still won't give me a straight answer – not even this close to the end?" she challenged him. After all, she was way too clever by now not to know that he was holding back.

But Albus just smiled at her. "Curious. Those do not look like an end to me at all," he said, nodding towards her job offers before he left her to her studying again, which, in any case, was more important than to have conversations with him.

* * *

"So, do you think we could see it? Not as an official part of the examination, of course, but out of personal curiosity?"

Minerva looked into the face of Professor Marchbanks, who had insisted on being the one to test her in her practical Transfiguration exam. There was no need to ask what 'it' was. "Of course, Professor."

She still wasn't practised enough to change securely without her wand, so Minerva held on to it while she visualised the Tabby cat and felt the change come over her. Thankfully, it was no longer painful and only a tiny bit uncomfortable.

Once she found herself on four paws, she jumped onto the nearest desk and on to the next, as always enjoying the agility and flexibility of her feline form and the certainty that she wouldn't misstep or fall. When she had made it around the room that way, she launched herself into the air and changed back into human form. That was a bit of a risk. Even though the cat in her couldn't stumble, the human very much could. But she had timed the transformation perfectly this time and she reappeared standing before Professor Marchbanks, who had a huge grin on her face.

"Wonderful! Truly magnificent!" she cheered. "Well, I think that is all we could possibly ask to see from you today," she said as she picked up her clipboard. "Unless you have any more tricks up your sleeve?"

"No, Professor."

"Thank Merlin! Because I don't have anything higher to give you than an Outstanding." Professor Marchbanks winked at her and let her go.

Minerva left the exam room and stopped in the Entrance Hall, not sure where she wanted to go. She was done with her exams for today and she should have gone back up to the common room to prepare for tomorrow, but she wasn't quite ready yet.

She heard music coming from the Great Hall and poked her head inside to see what was going on. It was the school choir, practising for the upcoming graduation ceremony.

"Once more, please, with feeling," said Professor Oldroyd, the Choir master.

The choir launched into a new rendition of 'Hoggy Warty Hogwarts'.

Minerva laughed and burst into tears at the same time.

* * *

**A/N: Just gearing up for Minerva's graduation here... so stay tuned. :)**


	25. Where to Go From Here

**25\. Where to Go from Here**

"I can't believe I once thought that this bed was the biggest bed I would ever sleep in." Augusta ran her hand over the curtains of her four-poster bed. "Now, this room feels kind of small, doesn't it?"

Minerva knew what she meant. She had just closed her trunk after checking for the third time if she had packed everything. She knew that there was nothing she could have forgotten. But it just felt so strange to think that as soon as she walked out of that door, the Hogwarts house elves would take all of her belongings outside and scrub the dormitory clean of any evidence that she had ever been here, so that on the first of September new first-years could move in.

Heaving a deep sigh, she said, "Let's go down. We don't want to be late."

"Well, it's not as if they can take any more points from us," Augusta joked.

She was right. The school year was officially over. They had enjoyed their final end-of-term feast last night and all the other students had been sent home on the Hogwarts Express this morning. Slytherin had won the House Cup, but Minerva had gotten eight Outstanding N.E.W.T.s while Sevazlian had failed Potions, which meant that he couldn't start in the Auror Office, as she had heard through the grapevine that he had been meaning to. She had never felt so defeated and victorious all at once.

Lost in thought, Minerva played with her Head Girl badge. She had pinned it to her black dress robes mostly out of habit and because these were the final hours for her to wear it, or at least the final hours for it to mean anything. Right now, it reminded her that she should be the first to show up in the Entrance Hall.

So she went down the grand staircase, letting her hand trail over the marble bannister, and then she watched as the rest of the seventh-years joined her and Augusta. One after the other the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws descended the stairs while the Slytherins climbed up from the dungeons and the Hufflepuffs emerged from the basement. Together they waited, almost exactly as they had done on their very first evening in the castle, nearly as nervous, but a little less terrified.

"I still think Minerva McGonagall is a funny name." Eric Elcoat had joined her and he was clearly remembering the first time they had all been together like this, too. "And more importantly, I think you should have been in Ravenclaw."

Just like on their first day, Augusta jumped in before Minerva could say anything, even though she hadn't needed her protection in a long time. "But her Animagus is a cat, genius."

"So? A housecat is not a lion," Eric argued.

"It's still closer than an eagle," Augusta shot back. "No feathers and all. Though, now that I think about it, that would have been wicked. If you could fly…"

"I'm perfectly happy with being a cat, thank you very much," Minerva said.

"Yeah, probably for the best. Judging by your crash-landing in our last Quidditch game flying isn't really your thing after all."

Augusta grinned at her and even though the memory still stung, Minerva couldn't help but laugh.

"I always seem to miss the most marvellous jokes," Professor Dumbledore said behind them.

Minerva took a deep breath before she turned around. Whether on purpose or not, Dumbledore was wearing robes very similar to the ones she remembered from seven years ago, only they weren't midnight blue but of a deep bordeaux.

"Then it's a good thing that there is no such thing as too much laughter, right, Professor?" she said.

"Took the words right out of my mouth, Miss McGonagall," Dumbledore winked at her. "Now, we're ready for you. Whether you are ready is, of course, a different question entirely, but I would ask you to form a line in any case."

They did, only this time they weren't entering the Great Hall single file. As Head Girl and Boy Minerva and Eric led them inside in rows of two. Other than that, the moment felt very similar. The Great Hall was every bit as magnificent as on their first day, though it looked different today. Four gigantic house banners had been put up and the lion, eagle, badger and snake in their centre were not only moving but leaning out of their banners to welcome them all.

They were not the only ones to greet them. The four house tables had been removed and replaced with rows of chairs filled with friends and family members of the graduates. Instead of the High Table, there was a stage where the teachers and the headmaster were waiting.

But first, the choir got to sing its song and they invited everyone to join in for the final chorus. To the complete bewilderment of some family members, the entire class of seventh-years (and some of the teachers) bellowed the rather peculiar lines of the school song.

Only then did Professor Dippet step forward to say, "Dear friends and families, esteemed colleagues, it is with greatest pleasure that I give you this year's graduates of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!"

Applause erupted as one after the other they received their diplomas. The Slytherin snake hissed, the Hufflepuff badger clapped, the Ravenclaw eagle beat its wings and the Gryffindor Lion roared while silver, black, bronze and golden sparks rose into the air.

After the official part had ended, everyone was free to mingle and Minerva hurried over to her family to hug her mother, her brothers (who complained about having gone home with the Hogwarts Express only yesterday and now being dragged back here today) and lastly her father.

"A little part of me always thought you were pulling my leg, but this… is truly impressive," he said, looking around the hall. It was the first time ever he had been able to set foot inside the castle and it showed in the wonder on his face.

"I know it's not like getting a uni degree," Minerva said.

"No, but I highly doubt they have golden lions like that at Oxford," her father said, glancing at the Gryffindor banner.

The lion saluted them.

"I only ever wanted to live up to your expectations," Minerva told him.

Her father gave a little laugh. "I think we both know that I never expected any of this. How could I have known that while I was worrying whether it was okay to have a cat in the house next to my baby girl, that baby would one day turn into a cat herself? I won't ever understand how that works or what exactly makes it different from other magic. But I don't need anyone to tell me that you are the best student in your year or the brightest young witch of your age, because I'm your father, and that means I will always see the best parts of you and forgive the worst."

He rested his hands on her shoulders and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Your mother always says that she was the one who noticed your magic first when you were just a baby, but that's not true, because the first one to fall under your spell was me. And that magic… that I understand."

Minerva smiled and wished she could give him a tour of the castle, but they weren't really supposed to wander off anymore. They were supposed to say their goodbyes and, well, leave.

But most of them seemed to linger for as long as they could. The teachers were the ones who left first.

"All the best to you, my dear girl," Horace Slughorn said as he shook Minerva's hand. "I suspect I will be seeing your name in the papers again before long, but you'll write to me, I hope?"

Minerva, who had so far had no such intentions, hesitated. "Thank you, Professor. I'll, uh, try."

"Wonderful!" Slughorn exclaimed before he left.

The other teachers said similar goodbyes (though no one asked her to write), and the more people left the Great Hall, the more Minerva realised that the time had come.

She took off her Head Girl badge and slipped out of the hall, her feet taking her directly towards the Transfiguration classroom. The door was closed, but Minerva didn't even feel guilty when she unlocked it with Alohomora. She was no longer a student after all. She then proceeded towards her seat in the front row by the window and sat down, taking it all in.

One last time.

Augusta was right. It did feel smaller.

"I thought I might find you here," Professor Dumbledore said from the doorway.

"It's funny how a room with a bunch of desks and chairs can feel so much like home," Minerva said without turning around.

"Yes, but home is where we want it to be," Dumbledore replied.

"Except I'm being told to leave," Minerva pointed out.

"Well, it's about bloody time."

Now Minerva did turn around to stare at Dumbledore, who slowly crossed the room and leaned against his desk. "You have made your way to the top of your class your very first year here and you haven't relinquished your hold on that spot for seven years," he said.

"And while I've tried my best, we both know that I haven't been able to confront you with any serious challenges in this room for a while now, not for longer than a few hours anyway," he added. "But when you leave this castle, you will face challenges the nature of which is impossible for anyone to name just yet. And while that can be frightening, it can also be exhilarating. If I were you, I'd go with the latter."

Minerva sighed, not sure if Dumbledore being as wise as he had always been made this better or worse. "I guess you're right. I haven't felt like this in a long time. Like I have truly no idea what to expect and might fail."

Dumbledore leaned forward. "Then by all means, go and fail, Minerva."

"What?"

"It's not the end of the world, you know. You have your whole life ahead of you. That's a lot of time to fix things. So if you were to do something crazy, now's the time to do it," he said, both teasing and completely serious at the same time.

She understood what he meant, but she still couldn't endorse it. Being told to fail wasn't really what she had expected. "You could have just said 'go forth and make me proud'," she told him.

"Actually, I couldn't have, because that would suggest that I'm not proud of you already," Dumbledore replied slowly. "And that would have been a lie of tremendous proportions."

Minerva looked up at him from where she was still sitting in the seat that had technically ceased to be hers, but from where she had looked up at him so many times. Only never with tears in her eyes, like she did now.

Perhaps that was what made Dumbledore stand up and bow to her with a little flourish at the end. "I bid you farewell, Minerva McGonagall, and I wish you the best of luck, even though I know you won't need it."

Trying to suppress a tremor in her voice and her heart, Minerva stood as well. "Thank you, Professor. For everything. For teaching me. All these years. Back in that first lesson with you, I had no idea, but it was a gift and an honour."

"No, Minerva, the honour was mine," Dumbledore said with a smile and that familiar twinkle in his blue eyes before he left the classroom.

And that was the last she saw of Albus Dumbledore until she left Hogwarts Castle that day.

* * *

**A/N: Okay, so please don't be mad at me because nothing happened between them. I know the idea of an illicit teacher/student relationship is exciting in a way, but if you think about it, it's something Albus would never do. At least that's the way I see him. But fear not, this only marks the end of part one of this story, and I have already mapped out part two and I'll get started on the next chapter right away. I hope you will join me in part two, but either way, thank you so much for your support until this point.**


	26. Scottish Hearts

**PART II**

**"**_**Dumbledore would have been happier than anybody to think that there was a little more love in the world."**_

* * *

**26\. Scottish Hearts**

"That'll be £13,50, dear."

Minerva looked at the Muggle money in her hand to double-check that she would be handing over the correct amount. Her mother had asked her to go to the store to buy some groceries and she hadn't handled anything other than Galleons, Sickles and Knuts in a while. She didn't want to make an embarrassing mistake.

"Didn't they teach you how to add up at that fancy school of yours?" Somebody asked her, interrupting her train of thought.

Her brows furrowed, Minerva turned around. Behind her in line stood a young man of her height and age with messy dark hair, sparkling brown eyes and a huge grin on his face. He had his hands in the pockets of his dirt-stained trousers. It took a few seconds, but then his name came back to Minerva. Dougal McGregor, son of Lachlan McGregor, who owned a farm not too far from the manse. Minerva had known the McGregors all her life, but she hadn't spoken to them in what felt like ages. Dougal's cheek sparked a memory, though.

"Actually, no, they didn't. I learned that in Mrs. Thomson's class. At least, I would have if her lessons hadn't been constantly interrupted," Minerva replied.

Dougal's smile widened, if that was even possible. "You remember me."

"No, I just remember a lad who couldn't sit still or be quiet." In fact, her time before Hogwarts when Minerva had still gone to the local school with all the other children in the village now felt like a distant memory from a very different life.

"And I remember a lass who'd jump up and down in her seat because she had to answer every single question." Dougal cocked his head. "Do you still do that?"

"I'm not six anymore. So no."

"Except, you just answered my question and I did see a little bounce in your step," Dougal pointed out with a lopsided grin.

Despite herself, Minerva had to suppress a smile. "And I see you still haven't learned to be quiet."

Dougal shrugged. "I just have so much to say. Would be a shame not to."

"That," Minerva snorted, "is debatable."

"Excuse me, dear, but are you going to pay for this now?"

Minerva shot an apologetic look at Mrs. Murray, who owned the store with her husband. "Yes, of course. I'm sorry."

"Oh no, it's so nice to have you home, dear."

Without pointing out that she was only back for the summer, Minerva handed over the money. Mrs. Murray took it and pushed the grocery back towards her in exchange.

"Here, let me," Dougal offered and reached for the bag.

But Minerva swatted his hand away. "I can carry my own groceries, thank you." She took the bag and left the store.

She had only started on the path back to the manse when Dougal caught up with her. "So, is that what they taught you at that school of yours? How to look good while you're carrying your own groceries?" he asked. "Then I'd say that the reverend really got his money's worth."

Minerva rolled her eyes in annoyance. "The only one who got something out of it was me as it was my education, not my father's."

There was a short pause. "You really liked it there, didn't you?"

Surprised, Minerva met Dougal's openly curious gaze. "Yes, I really did." There was no harm in telling him that much about Hogwarts.

"But it's still nice to be home, isn't? No place like it and all that." He winked at her.

Minerva sighed. It was sweet that everyone treated her like the prodigal son, or daughter, but she felt a twinge of guilt every time. No one in the village seemed to realise that she wasn't here to stay. They didn't know the truth about Hogwarts, of course, but even so, it was ridiculous that they all seemed to think that she had gotten a first-class education at an English boarding school only to spend the rest of her life in Caithness.

"Okay, that took too long," Dougal said when Minerva still hadn't answered. "You can't hesitate like that when other people ask you that question or they might burn you at the stake."

It was just a silly joke, but Minerva winced nevertheless. If only he knew that he was talking to a real witch... Actually, imagining the look on his face was kind of funny.

When Dougal saw the small smile on her lips, he said, "You think you're safe from being burned at the stake because you're the reverend's daughter, don't you?"

"Something like that," Minerva replied, amused.

"Ah, but you have to act like it, too. A reverend's daughter would know everyone in the village."

"I do know everyone in the village!" Minerva had no idea why she let him bait her, but it was too late now.

Dougal's eyes gleamed. "Then who's Rosie?"

"Rosie?" Minerva echoed helplessly. No last name. That wasn't fair.

"Whose relatives are staying over at the Old Mill right now?"

"Um..."

"And what's the name of the Campbells' new bairn?"

Minerva's eyes widened. "The Campbells had a baby?"

"Aye, your father did the baptism last month," Dougal told her.

"Well, I wasn't here then, was I?"

"Nope. You weren't." Dougal looked triumphant. Minerva's amusement shifted back to annoyance and she picked up the pace.

Dougal matched it easily. "But that's okay. I can get you back up to speed."

It was a pathetic ploy to keep her talking, but she was actually curious. Minerva knew that the Campbells had wanted a baby for a long time. She really should go and congratulate them. "Is it a boy or a girl?"

"A wee lass. Name's Rhona."

"That's a beautiful name," Minerva said more to herself than to him.

"It was on my list, too," Dougal nodded.

Dubiously, Minerva arched an eyebrow. "You have a list of baby names?"

"Technically, it's a list of names for when we have calves," he said, then grimaced. "Not that lasses and cows are the same thing... But, er, we have some very beautiful cows, and I like to name them because, well, bulls are terrible fathers," he finished lamely and Minerva burst out laughing.

He looked sheepish, but buoyed by her laughter.

"So who is staying at the Old Mill?" Minerva asked.

"Barbara Brown's entire extended family. It's her 80th birthday tomorrow."

"Right." Perhaps Minerva should start a list, too, with names of people she needed to talk to before she left again.

The manse was beginning to come into sight now. "Okay, so who's Rosie?" Minerva asked quickly.

Dougal slowed his pace and shook his head. "Nope. I can't do all the work for you. But you ken where to find me if you need a clue!" He flashed her a smile and turned around to walk back in the direction they had just come from.

Her mother was already waiting when Minerva entered the house. "What took you so long?"

"I wasn't long," Minerva protested as she handed over the groceries. "Do you know who Rosie is?"

"Rosie? No, never heard of her," Isobel said distractedly.

Curious, Minerva thought. As the wife of the only minister in town, her mother usually knew all the women who lived here, and Rosie was definitely not a boy's name...

"Minerva?"

"Huh?" She snapped back out of her musings. "Yes, sorry?"

"I asked if you could help me make these pies," her mother repeated her request.

Minerva tried not to make a face. She was happy to spend one more summer at home with her family before she would move to London and start her new job at the Ministry. But she wasn't excited about helping with all the cooking. She had gotten very lazy at Hogwarts when it came to household chores. Especially when they needed to be performed without a wand.

"Of course," she said, thinking that, starting tomorrow, she would ask her father if he needed help with his sermons or any other church business. Also, he would have to know who this Rosie was.

Isobel smiled at her as if she had read her thoughts. "Don't worry, I won't keep you all day. In fact, I've been meaning to tell you that there's going to be a dance in the town hall this weekend. You should go."

Minerva grimaced. "Dances aren't my thing."

"You're eighteen, Minerva. Anything that's not staying at home with your parents should be your thing," Isobel said and Minerva knew better than to argue with that tone.

* * *

On Saturday, both of her parents practically kicked her out of the house to go to that silly dance. But Minerva was okay with going because she was still looking for an answer to a certain question. Junior had wanted to come to, but he had decided last minute that there would only be old people there, which made it no fun. Malcolm had never been interested in going to begin with because he said that it sounded boring. Also, he was scared of girls. Bless him.

So there was no need to chaperon her brothers, and it turned out that there were not only old people at the dance after all. But there were a lot of them, and they all wanted to talk to Minerva. It took her a while to find the one person she had actually been hoping to meet at this dance.

"There is no Rosie around here," she told Dougal.

He was wearing a green plaid shirt and clean trousers tonight, but his hair was still messy. Then again, Minerva had let down her own hair as well because it went well with her dress, which also happened to be green. Since it brought out her eyes and she really liked the colour, she had decided to reclaim it. It didn't solely belong to Slytherin.

"Sure there is," Dougal replied brightly when he saw her.

"Then she's not coming to church," Minerva insisted.

Dougal grinned. "I never said she was."

"But everyone in the village is going to church."

"Everyone on two legs maybe," he nodded, laughing now. "But seeing as Rosie is a hamster..."

Minerva felt the urge to punch him. "You had me wasting my time looking for a rodent?"

"No, I just asked you a question. It's not my fault that you need to have all the answers."

Unfortunately, there was some truth to that, so Minerva merely turned away, huffing in annoyance.

"Hey," Dougal quickly stepped into her path, "I'll make it up to you. Dance with me?"

"I don't dance," Minerva said automatically.

Dougal held out his hand. "Never too late to start."

Suddenly Minerva flashed back to a Slug party a few years ago when Professor Dumbledore had said something very similar. It was probably the shock of that memory that caused Minerva to agree and take Dougal's hand.

They danced and Minerva fully expected it to be as awful and uncomfortable as she remembered. But there was no painful stepping on toes and no awkward silence. She just moved when Dougal's body told her to move and smiled when his lips did the same, which was all the time.

It felt as though she was having an out-of-body experience. Her heart was thumping and her hands were sweating and she noticed the most inconsequential things – like how much space there was left between them and how Dougal's hand on her back seemed to drift lower with every song. Then the music slowed and before she knew it, they were all squished together, and Minerva had never been so aware of her breasts and she'd never felt a man's heart beating so close to hers. Her brain thought that this wasn't enough personal space at all.

Her heart told it to shut up.

It was quite ridiculous.

Minerva didn't know what time it was, but it was dark and the dance had ended an hour ago when Dougal finally walked her home.

"You don't have to come all the way to the house with me," she told him. Her parents were probably in bed already and she didn't have a curfew anymore. But that didn't mean there wouldn't be questions.

"Why not?"

"Because my father wouldn't like it." Minerva felt silly saying that, but it was a good enough excuse, and perhaps also true.

"He doesn't like his daughter getting home safe?" Dougal asked.

"No, he doesn't like smart-mouthed men coming after his daughter to..." Minerva faltered.

Dougal jumped on it immediately. "To what? Court you? You think I'm courting you?" He laughed. "Perhaps I was just raised right and ken better than to let a lassie wander alone in the dark. That doesn't mean I'm planning to spend the rest of my life with you."

"Good, because you're a fool if you think that it makes any difference if it's a woman or a man wandering alone in the dark. I don't need your protection," Minerva snapped.

"Maybe I need yours then," Dougal said simply.

Caught off guard, Minerva fell silent. He had no idea how true that was. Not right now, because right now her wand was locked in her room, but in general.

"And I was just kidding," Dougal continued in what for him was a serious tone. "You were right. Of course, I am."

"You're what?" Minerva asked, barely in control of the words her lips were forming. "A fool or planning to spend the rest of your life with me?"

Dougal's expression morphed into a boyish smile and he stole the quickest of kisses from her. "We'll see."

* * *

Next morning, Minerva watched distractedly as the church slowly filled for the Sunday morning service. She told herself that she didn't really know what or whom she was waiting for, but her heart skipped a beat when he walked in.

She quickly headed over to him before he could reach her father. "Where are you going?" He looked even cleaner and more dressed up this morning than he had last night for the dance.

"To church like everyone else," Dougal gave the obvious answer to her rather obvious question. "I need to talk to your father, don't I?"

"Don't you dare!" Minerva hissed. That was exactly what she had been afraid of.

"Relax. He's your father, but he's my reverend. I can talk to him whenever I want to. About a lot of things."

"Then why haven't you been here last week?"

"Couldn't make it." Dougal shrugged. "And I didn't ken you were back," he smiled and reached out to hold her hand.

Minerva snatched it back. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Proving myself to you. Isn't that what the stable boy does in the fairy tales to win the princess?"

Minerva snorted. "Life is not a fairy tale."

"It can be," Dougal insisted.

"How?"

"When you find the one who's meant to be your happy ending," he said, and he actually said it with a straight face and looked her right in the eye.

Minerva should have laughed right back in his face, but instead she found that she was speechless and she nearly jumped into the air when his body brushed against hers on his way to finding a seat. The light touch was enough to set her nerves on fire.

She didn't hear a single word of what her father was saying in his sermon that day.

After the service, Minerva stood next to him outside the church as everyone was leaving and stopping for a moment to say goodbye or chat with the reverend. Minerva's contributions to those conversations were rather monosyllabic. Until Dougal was the one to come up to them.

"That was a beautiful sermon, Reverend," he said, and Minerva narrowed his eyes at him. Had he actually been listening? Was she the only one losing her mind?

"Thank you. I'm glad to see you back this week. How is your father?" Reverend McGonagall asked.

"Still too sick to come to church, but the doctor said he should get better soon," Dougal replied.

Minerva felt like someone had doused her with ice water, which was just what she needed, but she wished it hadn't come in the form of bad news. How did she not know that Dougal's father was sick?

"I'll try to come by the farm soon for a visit," Robert said thoughtfully. "I won't make it today... but we have a wonderful soup left over from last night. I'm sure that would do Lachlan some good. Minerva, why don't you go with Dougal and bring it over?"

"What?" she snapped way too loudly. Her father gave her a funny look. "Oh, of course."

And so once again, Minerva headed for the manse with Dougal in tow.

"So, I'd say your father likes me just fine," he said, clearly amused.

"He just doesn't know yet," Minerva replied.

"He doesn't ken what?" Dougal asked quickly. "Are you saying there is something to ken about us?" He pointed at the space between the two of them and then closed that space by deliberately bumping into her shoulder.

"No, there isn't, because you'd rather talk to me about hamsters than your sick father," Minerva said with no hint of amusement in her voice.

Dougal sobered as well. "Everyone wants to talk to me about that all the time. It was nice that you didn't ken. Like I was finally allowed to think of something else and have some fun." He winced and stuck his hands into his pockets. "That sounded selfish."

Minerva looked at him and then she slipped her arm through the bend of his. "No. It doesn't."

Dougal brightened up, and after they had collected the pot with the soup, they made their way to the McGregors' farm. Minerva knew where it was, but she had never been there before. The farmhouse was bigger than she had thought it would be. There was room for a much larger family here. But Dougal was the McGregors' only child.

"I'll check if he's awake," Dougal said, climbing a flight of stairs to the upper floor. "Could you heat up the soup?"

Minerva was about to make a snarky comment as to why he thought it was her job to do the cooking, but she didn't want to raise her voice in a house that tended to someone who was ill. She carried the pot into the kitchen and wished for her wand. Then she mentally chided herself. She could heat up some soup without magic! It couldn't be more difficult than becoming an Animagus.

A couple of minutes later, she followed Dougal up the stairs, carrying a tray with a steaming bowl, some bread she had found and a cup of tea. A door at the end of the hall was open and Minerva entered the room behind it. Lachlan McGregor was lying in a comfortable looking bed, but he tried to sit up when he saw her.

"Dougal, you didn't tell me we had a visitor!" he complained and began to cough.

Dougal quickly rose from the edge of the bed where he had been sitting to take the tray from Minerva. "The reverend wanted to come, but he can't make it today, so he wanted you to have some soup at least," he explained, setting down the tray on the bed.

"And a personal delivery by his daughter, too," Lachlan laughed when he had recovered from his coughing fit. His laughter sounded very similar, though. "Good lad, our reverend. Don't ken anyone better."

He was looking at Minerva when he said that. "Thank you, sir," she replied.

"Don't you 'sir' me. I've known you since you were a wee lass. So they finally let you out of that special school of yours, did they?"

"Yes, I just graduated," Minerva nodded.

"Very good. I'm sure your parents are glad to have you back home. There's nothing like being with family." He smiled at his son, who squirmed under the intimacy of his father's gaze, but Minerva thought it was sweet.

"We should let you eat in peace," Dougal said, ushering Minerva out of the room.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do, son!" Lachlan hollered after them, which ended in another coughing fit.

Minerva must have looked worried because Dougal said, "It sounds worse than it is. At least, that's what the doctor said."

She didn't immediately respond because she couldn't help but wonder if the healers at St. Mungo's or even Madam Hailstone would be able to heal Lachlan as easily as they had always taken care of Minerva's injuries. It made her angry that that wasn't even an option.

"I mean, this will be my farm one day, but not just yet," Dougal added when Minerva still hadn't said anything.

They had taken the stairs back down into the hallway. "Then you want to stay here and keep running the farm like your father?" she asked eventually.

"It was my grandfather who built it, actually, and I want to keep it going, aye. I always wanted to, really. But not alone. Losing Mother was… hard enough."

"When did she die?" Minerva asked softly.

"Two years back."

Now that he mentioned it, Minerva did remember her mother telling her about the funeral in a letter. But at the time, Minerva had been too busy studying for the O.W.L.s to think about it much, and she hadn't been home for Easter either. Of all the things she had missed while she had been away at school, this felt like the worst.

"I'm sorry," she said and took Dougal's hand to squeeze it.

"Not your fault." He looked down at their intertwined fingers and cheered up almost instantly. "So, do you want to help me milk some cows?"

"Uh…" said Minerva.

That was all she managed before Dougal used the fact that they were now holding hands to pull her out of the house and into the stables.

Minerva wasn't quite sure what was happening, but all of a sudden she was squatting next to a cow and she had her hands wrapped around two of its teats. She felt a little awkward squeezing them, especially since nothing happened. The cow seemed rather unimpressed.

As did Dougal. "Wow, you're really bad at this," he observed.

"Well, funnily enough, milking cows was not a part of the curriculum at my school either," Minerva defended herself. She wondered if there was a spell, though.

"Then what exactly did you learn there?" Dougal asked as he grabbed a stool to sit next to her.

Minerva shot him a look. "You mean because adding up groceries and doing chores on a farm are the only things worth teaching to a woman?"

"No, because you haven't talked about what you want to do now that you're out of school," Dougal explained and wrapped his hands around hers to show her how to properly wrap her thumb and forefinger around the base of the cow's teat. "But I know that smart head of yours must be bursting with ideas."

When Minerva had overcome her surprise about his words and his touch, she said, "I want to do some good in the world."

"Specify," Dougal said, revealing an unexpected sharpness of his interest and his intellect.

"Things aren't… right." Minerva wondered how else to phrase this in a way that Dougal would understand without actually knowing about the existence or the problems of the wizarding community. "People aren't treated the same because we always choose to see how we are different rather than how we are the same. At best, people react with distaste, at worst with violence. But we could learn not to fear what we don't understand and most importantly not to hate. We could choose to…"

"… love?" Dougal offered when Minerva had paused.

Her stomach did a little somersault because Dougal had stopped trying to teach her how to milk the cow, so now they were really just holding hands again and sitting with their faces really close together – well, close to each other and to the cow's udder.

"Aye, we could choose to love," Minerva agreed softly and then she squeezed with her thumb and forefinger and squirted milk into Dougal's face.

He roared with laughter, which made Minerva laugh as well, and they didn't stop laughing for the rest of the day while they did multiple chores around the farm. When Minerva was thoroughly out of breath from chasing chickens around the coop, she looked warily at Dougal's outstretched hand.

"Don't worry. No more work today. I haven't shown you my favourite spot on the farm yet."

Minerva took his hand and he led her over to the barn. She saw an old tractor and other farm equipment, but Dougal indicated that she should climb up the ladder to the hayloft. There wasn't hay up there, though, or at least not exclusively. Next to a charming window that offered a nice view of the surrounding fields, there was a corner with a cosy little sofa, a makeshift bed made out of a mountain of blankets and pillows, a small table with stacks of books and an easel with some painting utensils.

"Welcome to my humble sanctuary," Dougal said, and it was unmistakable that this was his happy place.

"Sanctuary from what?" Minerva asked as she inspected some of the book titles.

"Everything, I guess." Dougal shrugged. "No one but me ever comes up here."

Minerva put _The Wizard of Oz _back onto the table. "I'm here."

Dougal grinned broadly. "Aye, you are."

Minerva broke eye contact first to look at the easel. "You paint?"

"I dabble," Dougal amended while Minerva walked over to some of the paintings and drawings that were stacked up there. "It's a good way to clear my head."

Most paintings showed the view out of the barn window at different times of the day and year. Except for one. "That's me!" Minerva gasped.

"Blimey! Forgot that was there." Dougal quickly stepped up to her to pry the drawing out of her hands before she had time to look at it more closely.

"Don't I have a right to see my own painting?" Minerva asked.

Dougal dumped it somewhere behind his back. "Nope. It doesn't really look like you."

"Well, I did recognise myself," she argued.

"But you shouldn't have. It's not nearly as enchanting as the original."

Minerva looked into his eyes, that had the colour of molten chocolate, and she knew this time she wouldn't have the strength to look away again. Or the will. Even though the word 'enchanting' had very different meanings for the two of them. Right now, only one of those seemed to matter.

They held each other's gaze for no more than a couple of seconds before Dougal took her face in his hands and kissed her. And he wasn't careful or shy about it like last night. This kiss was deep and searching and something inside of Minerva answered. All the rest of it just fell away.

* * *

Minerva had meant to spend the summer reading up on wizarding law and Ministry history and procedure. Instead, she spent all of her time at the McGregors' farm. She told her parents that she was helping out over there because Lachlan was still mostly bed-ridden.

And she was helping out. She was a virtual expert at milking cows by now. After all, Minerva was still a quick study and always willing to learn. And Dougal loved to teach her. He even showed her how to drive the tractor, which was a very memorable afternoon for both of them. But it wasn't really about the farm work.

They also laughed and argued and danced and touched and kissed and did things Minerva would never ever tell her father about.

The weeks were flying by and for the first time ever Minerva had stopped thinking.

When it came to love, she had always felt like she was standing on the outside looking in, watching her parents or Augusta, sometimes confused, sometimes appalled and sometimes envious that they seemed to be completely engulfed in an emotion that was entirely foreign to her.

She knew how to love, of course. She loved her parents and her brothers and her friends, and she was passionate about things, about Transfiguration and Quidditch and speaking up when other people were content to just look away. But despite all that love and passion, she had never had the faintest idea how to be _in_ love with someone. Eventually, she had told herself that her heart was simply too smart to allow anyone to steal it.

As it turned out, she hadn't been smart at all. In fact, she had been oh so dumb. Because love wasn't thinking or analysing or studying. Love was when all of that went away. When the world just went quiet. Minerva had never known anything more beautiful.

* * *

"I've been thinking I should come to church tomorrow."

They were up in the hayloft that was now not only Dougal's happy place but their shared happy place. Minerva was wrapped in a blanket because the evenings were beginning to get chilly already and she was lying on the mountain of pillows on the floor, reading. Dougal was standing next to the window. He had wanted to paint the sunset, but he lowered his brush.

Minerva looked up with a confused frown wrinkling her forehead. "You come to church every Sunday."

"Aye, but I meant I should come to church to talk to your father."

Minerva's book fell out of her hands and clattered to the floor. Before she could pick it up or think to do or say anything else, Dougal crouched down in front of her.

"I ken you don't think that he could tell you what to do, or anyone really, and I respect that. But I really, really need to tell him that I'm madly in love with his daughter. It's only right."

He anxiously searched her face for a reaction. Minerva did quite the same thing. She waited for panic or anger or some kind of argument to rise up within her, but it didn't. Eventually, she nodded. "Okay."

"Okay?" Dougal echoed, his whole face lighting up.

"Yes, it's time to tell him," Minerva agreed.

She was running out of excuses as to why the McGregors needed her to help out on the farm – of all the more qualified people in the village they could ask. Generally, her father didn't mind when his children did a good deed. He had encouraged them to help others since they were old enough to walk. But since neighbourly help wasn't actually Minerva's primary motive, it felt like she was constantly lying. At the very least, she hadn't told either of her parents the whole truth about her and Dougal. So it was time to tell them something.

"Good," Dougal nodded excitedly. "And if that goes well, then I think we should tell everyone. So we can invite them."

"Invite them to what?" Minerva asked, eyebrows raised. People in the village could be very judgmental and they rarely kept their opinions to themselves.

Dougal looked perfectly unconcerned, he just looked happy, almost deliriously so. "Our wedding."

Minerva's heart stopped. She couldn't breathe and she could certainly no longer lie here like it was just another lazy Saturday night. She had no idea what the correct bodily position was when your life was suddenly changed forever, but lying on the floor of a barn wasn't it. She threw off the blanket and scrambled to her feet. Dougal helped her, also standing up and holding her hands.

He used her speechlessness to say, "I told you once that I didn't ken yet if I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you, but I did. I did ken ever since that day I saw you at the store and you refused to let me carry your groceries. I figured that now that you were finally back home from school for good, I had this one chance."

She should have stopped him there, but she couldn't. And he had already dropped down on one knee.

"Minerva, will you please let me not carry your groceries but love you, love you forever, and do me the incredible honour of becoming my wife?"

Once again, Minerva waited for the arguments to come. And they did (she was only eighteen years old, she barely knew what love was, how was she supposed to know how marriage worked...), but then they just went away again. Instead, there was this beautiful quiet. The quiet of loving the way her hand felt in Dougal's, and loving the look of joy and hope in his eyes, and just loving to love and be loved.

And she heard herself say, "Yes."

Dougal blinked as though he couldn't believe it either, but then he jumped back up and he swept her off her feet. They were up in the air, kissing, and then back on the floor, kissing, and Minerva was completely swallowed up by her emotions.

It was at least two hours later when she finally walked home. It hadn't been easy to leave. Dougal had wanted to come. He had begged her to let him come. But Minerva had decided that she would go and tell her parents alone. She was a full-grown woman and she had made the decision to marry and so she should also be the one to tell them.

In that moment, Minerva saw it all in her mind's eye. How her father would be so proud to be the one to marry her and Dougal in his church. They would live on the McGregors' farm, which wasn't far from the manse, so Minerva could have tea with her mother regularly. Which would be nice, especially once she'd be pregnant with their first child. Perhaps there would even be a second or a third child, and their children would grow up Scottish and happy and so very loved.

But then Minerva entered her parents' house to angrily raised voices. She didn't know what had happened exactly, but she got the gist of it. Malcolm had broken the old grandfather's clock that didn't belong to the family, but to the manse, to the church, and it had been the single most valuable thing in the entire house. So her father was upset, Malcolm was crying and her mother was somewhere in between the two.

It was completely ridiculous because Minerva could have fixed the whole thing in three seconds. And so could her mother.

Except.

Their wands were locked away. Her father wouldn't like it. The neighbours could see... It was all lies and shame and secrecy.

And Minerva's vision of her future with Dougal shattered into a thousand little pieces.

She had just learned another lesson about love. It was truly blind. So blind that she had overlooked that Dougal did not know who she truly was.

Even if she told him, even if he loved her still, his life was on his farm, her life was in London. He couldn't come and she couldn't stay. To stay would mean that her wand would have to stay locked up as well. And to teach her own children to lie.

It wasn't even a choice. Because Minerva had already made that choice a long time ago.

She was not her mother. She would never be her mother.

But she cried. She stood there in the doorway and cried about the injustice of it all.

If she could only be Minerva McGonagall or be in love with Dougal McGregor, but she was now both, and she couldn't go back on either one of those, then who the bloody hell was she?

The answer, she supposed, was neither.

Minerva cried and hid in her room all night until it was early enough in the morning for a farmer to rise. She snuck out of the house then and walked over to the McGregors' farm. It was the same path she had taken last night, but it felt twice as long now.

Dougal was indeed already up and he saw her coming and ran at her. Minerva couldn't stop him from pulling her into his arms to kiss her. It took all of the little strength she had left to physically push him away from her.

That's when he noticed the defeated look on her face and in her eyes, red-rimmed from crying and completely empty.

"What happened?" Dougal asked, worried but willing to fight. "Did you tell Robert? Did he say no? I should have talked to him first! I'm sorry, Minerva. I will fix this."

Now Dougal was the one pulling away, ready to storm off, and Minerva had to hold on to him, which was all kinds of cruel. "No, Dougal, wait."

"Don't worry. I'll talk to him man to man," Dougal said, not listening. "I've been up all night thinking about this. I may be just a simple Scottish farmer, but I have something to offer you. I ken technically the farm is mine, but when we marry, I want you to own half. And I have some money saved up. I don't ken what that school of yours costs, but I'll make sure our kids will be able to go there, too..."

Minerva desperately wished for the Killing Curse to come and take her and put her out of her misery. Because that couldn't have hurt more than this. "My father didn't say no," she managed.

Dougal paused. "He didn't?"

"No, he still doesn't know."

"Oh, good, then I can..." He faltered when it began to dawn on him that if it wasn't her father...

"_I'm_ saying no," Minerva said softly.

"But... no... that's just cold feet," Dougal replied after he had overcome some of his initial shock. "This was all too fast. We can go slower. We could just be engaged for a while..."

Minerva shook her head. "I'm leaving, Dougal. I have a job in London."

He looked as if she had slapped him in the face. "What... job?"

"I..." She had been about to say that she couldn't tell him, but even saying that would have been suspicious. "That's not important right now, but it's what I've been working for all my life." He knew that she had graduated top of her class, so really this shouldn't have come as such a shock. In fact, now that they were here, Minerva had no idea how they had managed never to talk about this all summer.

Dougal seemed to think the same thing. "Aye... well... you'll be coming home on the weekends then, right? Or I could come to London..."

"Dougal, you can't leave the farm..."

"I'll hire someone. I'll make it work!"

"No! You can't come and visit me in London!"

"Why not?"

"Because... because it's over, Dougal."

"But last night you wanted to marry me! That doesn't make any sense!"

_I know it doesn't make any sense! It doesn't make any sense to me either!_ Minerva wanted to yell. And what little sense it did make, she couldn't tell him because then she would be breaking the International Statute of Secrecy, which meant that she would be losing the very job she was leaving him for!

She tried to take a breath. "Last night I didn't think properly. We had deluded ourselves into thinking that this would work. It's only been a few months and we're very young..."

"Do you love me?" Dougal cut her off.

"I..."

"Because I don't care how long it's been, I love you. So do you love me?" he pressed.

Minerva was crying again. She could feel fresh, hot tears spilling over and running down her cheeks. She couldn't tell the truth, but she couldn't lie either. "Yes. Of course, I love you."

At first, Dougal looked happy, then frustrated. "Then I don't understand!"

"I know you don't. I'm sorry. But I'm leaving and I can't marry you. Please don't ask my family where I am. Please don't come looking for me. Don't even think about me, if you can manage it. I won't be coming back."

"But..." He tried to protest, but he was clearly at a loss.

So was Minerva. "I'm so sorry. You deserve better than this. But I have to go."

She simply couldn't take it anymore. Dougal looked devastated, and the only thing she could do was to run like a coward.

So Minerva ran.

And she learned another thing about love.

It hurt. Worse than any jinx or curse imaginable. And more importantly, there was no antidote or counter-curse.

And so her heart broke.

* * *

**A/N: I'm not sure this will be a hugely popular chapter, but it's a very important one as far as Minerva's character development is concerned. So I hope you enjoyed it even without Albus making an appearance. And of course, thank you all for your kind words when I finished part one last week. I'm very happy that you're all still with me on this journey.**


	27. Bias

**27\. Bias**

"Sir, a top hat and a dress – that's not appropriate Muggle wear."

"But it looks festive, and I'm on my way to a party."

Minerva sighed. She hated answering calls about improper Muggle attire. She hadn't graduated top of her class at Hogwarts and trained to become a fully-fledged member of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad to argue about fashion.

"If you insist on the hat and want to dress up, you should wear a tuxedo or a tailcoat. Those are the appropriate choices for men."

"I've seen Muggle men in skirts!" The wizard persisted.

"Those would have been kilts, a traditional piece of clothing in Scotland. What you're wearing is not a kilt. It's a girl's dress with kittens on it!" Minerva couldn't keep the exasperation out of her voice and her mood didn't improve when she noticed that her colleagues were secretly laughing their heads off.

The wizard refused to see reason. "I know, but I think I look rather fabulous in pink, don't you?"

Her colleagues guffawed, and Minerva had enough. "Sir, either change your clothes right now or I'll have to arrest you."

"Arrest me? As in... go to Azkaban?"

Minerva hated threatening people with the wizarding prison because most witches and wizards were honestly terrified of it, and rightly so. Minerva had visited once during her training. Afterwards, she had slept with the lights on for a week and had eaten her body weight in chocolate. It was an awful place. Unfortunately, that was also why it was such an effective threat.

"Failing to adopt an entirely Muggle standard of dress is a breach of Clause 35 of the International Statute of Secrecy, so yes, if convicted, you'd serve your sentence in Azkaban."

The wizard started to undress so fast, Minerva saw a flash of his equally inappropriate underwear before she could stop him. "Not out here!" she hissed, grabbing his wrists.

"But you said right now..."

Minerva closed her eyes in a mute prayer for strength while her colleagues kept snickering.

She hated her job.

When she had finally dealt with that insufferable man, Minerva looked forward to getting back to the office. But they got another alert about a Muggle-related incident, which was a description that fit more than half of all their daily dealings.

"I know Alan Heggarty," said Bainbridge, one of Minerva's colleagues, when they were given more information about the wizards involved. "I can deal with this one."

Giles, the third member of their little squad, nodded, glad to get off duty. But Minerva said, "I'm coming with you."

Bainbridge shot her an exasperated look, but he couldn't stop her. It was against regular procedure to go alone and he knew it. So they all went.

They Disapparated and reappeared near an open field where they spotted a whole group of people, some of them wizards and some Muggles. The two were easily enough to distinguish. For once, the witches and wizards were wearing Quidditch gear in broad daylight. And the Muggles, who were dressed for hiking, were huddled around a map and seemed completely lost.

"This doesn't look so bad," Giles said.

Minerva disagreed and strode purposefully towards the wizard who had to be Alan Heggarty. Bainbridge and Giles hurried to follow her.

"What happened here?" she asked sharply. There was no need to introduce herself as a member of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad because the insignia on her chest did that for her. Plus, as Bainbridge had already mentioned, he knew these people.

Which was probably why Alan Heggarty looked at him and not at Minerva. "Lance, thank Merlin! We're in a bit of a pickle here."

"I can see that. What happened?" Bainbridge repeated Minerva's question, which annoyed her greatly.

"Well, you know it's my birthday this weekend and we're having a bit of a family gathering and we always put on a little Quidditch tournament when we get together..."

"Playing Quidditch in the presence of Muggles is forbidden according to Clause 64 of the International Statute of Secrecy," Minerva interrupted him briskly. She would have been more polite if Heggarty had been polite enough to actually talk to her.

Now he did look at her, though. "But this is my land! I can do whatever I want on my land!"

"Not if you haven't made sure that there are no Muggles on your land," Minerva informed him.

"They just came wandering in! We tried to get rid of them..."

"Excuse me?" Minerva cut across him, appalled. "How exactly did you try to 'get rid of them'?"

Heggarty looked more upset than chastised. "Confundus Charm. Problem is now they seem to have forgotten where they are and where they were going. Can't even tell us where they are from. Stupid Muggles."

Minerva was already having a bad day, so her anger was hot and fast. "You can't just go around and put Confundus Charms on people! Or would you like me to put one on you and find out if you still remember that it's your birthday then?"

"Now, now," Bainbridge jumped in. "A Confundus Charm is hardly the Cruciatus Curse. We can fix them, wipe their memories and send them on their way. No harm done!"

"No harm done?" Minerva rounded on her colleague. "What do you call that?" She pointed at the group of Muggles. Two of the men were arguing fiercely, another was upending his backpack, searching for a second map that was lying right in front of his nose, the woman next to him looked terrified and another was crying.

"Actually, they always look like that to me," Bainbridge said with a shrug and Giles nodded his silent support.

It had taken Minerva only a couple of days of working with them to notice that they were both horribly biased against Muggles. She had tried to fight it at first, but she was growing weary of it. They couldn't understand her any more than she could understand them. Unlike Minerva, they didn't have two Muggle men in their lives whom they loved with all their hearts. Of course, only one of those men was technically still _in_ Minerva's life – a reminder that only worsened her mood.

"Well, they don't always look like that," she snapped. "Which constitutes an attack."

"An attack?" Heggarty paled. While Azkaban had just been an empty threat in case of the wizard with the girl's dress, it definitely loomed large now. "But I was just trying to fix this!"

"Exactly. You were trying to cover up your other offense, namely playing magical sports without ensuring that there was no risk of discovery." Minerva had very little sympathy for this man's situation.

Bainbridge on the other hand did his best to defend him. "Come on! Yes, they shouldn't have been seen, but they didn't mean any harm."

Being seen arguing amongst themselves was highly unprofessional, but Bainbridge left Minerva no choice. "Their intentions are irrelevant as they didn't have the necessary authority to do any of it. Both actions are serious infractions and punishable by law. They can plead their case in front of the Wizengamot."

Minerva glared at her colleagues, daring them to disagree. But they couldn't. That's what Minerva liked about this job. The law wasn't biased. The people who interpreted it and who were supposed to enforce it could choose to look the other way, but they couldn't argue with the law when it was staring them right in the face.

"Would you prefer to do the arrest or take care of the Muggles?" Minerva asked, taking her colleagues' stony silence as agreement.

Bainbridge looked as if he was stuck between a rock and a hard place, but he chose to arrest his friend rather than to deal with the confused and hysterical Muggles. As Minerva had known he would and she much preferred it this way. She could show those Muggles a lot more kindness than they would have received otherwise. Even if they wouldn't remember any of this in the end, it still mattered.

Minerva almost envied them. Sometimes ignorance really was bliss, she thought when she was finally back behind her desk at the Ministry, taking care of the paperwork. She got so lost in the menial work, she didn't even notice her boss' approach until he spoke.

"What are you still doing here, Minerva? I thought everyone had left to get a drink."

She looked up from her scroll of parchment with a wan smile. "I just wanted to be done with this. And Lance wouldn't have wanted me to join them anyway."

Elphinstone Urquart leaned against her desk. "But he should, because if you ask me, he owes you a drink for stopping him from doing something very unethical today."

"I don't think he sees it that way," Minerva said, but she didn't really care. She wasn't working here so she'd have someone to get drinks with. Though that did make her evenings rather lonely.

"Well, I do, and did I mention that it's my opinion that counts?" Elphinstone winked at her.

"In here, maybe."

"Maybe?" Elphinstone's eyebrows shot up.

"You know what I mean. It's not nearly enough if only you and I believe that Muggles deserve to be treated the same way we treat each other and that we cannot make them pay for a decision we made as a community years ago."

"I hear you. But as you know, change starts at the top."

"I'm not at the top."

Elphinstone smiled. "Not yet. Until then, let's go get that drink."

Minerva opened her mouth to protest weakly, but Elphinstone cut her off. "I can and will make this an order if that helps."

"All right, all right." Minerva put away the paperwork and rose from her chair. "But you do realise that being friends with my boss won't help me to get along with Lance either."

"Oh, I know. But it'll help me," Elphinstone said as he led her out of the office.

"How so?" asked Minerva.

"Because my day is always so much better when I get to see one of your elusive smiles," Elphinstone replied.

Taken aback by his answer, Minerva fell silent, but she decided that he was just being kind. Elphinstone's leadership style was very amicable, and ever since he had let her run out of her original job interview in full support of her becoming an Animagus, their relationship had been especially cordial. He was the only true kindred spirit Minerva had found at the Ministry so far.

After many years on the job, Elphinstone was also an excellent judge of character. And he proved it by bringing her to a Scottish pub in the heart of London.

"I had a feeling you could use a touch of home," he explained when he saw the surprised look on Minerva's face.

It probably hadn't been very hard to tell. When it came to London, Minerva wasn't a fan. Even though the city was so large, it seemed very, very small to her because it was always crowded, loud and packed with Muggles. On days like today, it felt as though it drained her of half of all her energy just to live here.

But the familiar voices and smells in the pub cheered her up immensely. And Elphinstone entertained her by trying to fake a Scottish accent when he read the menu – he wasn't very good – and she had to explain some of the choices to him.

"I guess I have a lot to learn. I've been meaning to take some time off work to go travelling. I should probably stop thinking about it and actually do it." Elphinstone laughed. "You'll take charge while I'm gone, won't you?"

"I don't have seniority," Minerva reminded him.

Elphinstone shrugged. "No, but you have heart. That's a lot harder to come by."

_And very easy to lose,_ Minerva thought. But she said, "The Ministry doesn't run on 'heart'."

"Perhaps it will one day. One can only hope, right?"

"I was _hoping_ to do more than that," Minerva replied.

Elphinstone raised his glass to her. He had ordered a Guinness, which Minerva refused to comment. "Even better. Let's drink to that then."

So they did.

* * *

Which was why Minerva was still asleep the next morning when she was told to come into the office early and urgently. Apparently, the Auror Office had asked for assistance, which they never did because they considered themselves to be higher up in the food chain. But they had received a tip regarding the whereabouts of a notorious wizard they'd been chasing, Eion Northcroft, and they simply didn't have the necessary manpower to cover all the ground they needed to cover.

They made sure, however, to assign any members of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad to areas where they thought it the most unlikely that Northcroft would actually show up. Still, Minerva accepted her assignment and tried to remain vigilant despite her lack of sleep.

She laughed to herself when she saw a man in a kilt walk past. It made her think of that wizard she had argued with yesterday, and for a crazy couple of seconds, she thought that it was him. When she saw that it wasn't, she actually got suspicious. Minerva had never seen anyone in a kilt since she'd come to London, not even in that Scottish pub. It wasn't impossible, of course, certainly not forbidden, but it was an odd sock, and Elphinstone had taught her never to ignore those.

After a moment of deliberation, Minerva decided to make a judgment call. She told Bainbridge, whom she had been partnered with again today, that she would chase down a lead, and she handed him her wand. Before he could do more than look at her as if she had gone completely mad, she ducked into a corner where she was hidden from view. There she transformed into her Tabby cat and quickly picked up the trail to follow the man in the kilt. Thanks to her cat senses, she never lost him, but she followed him for so long that she was beginning to think she had made the wrong choice. The Aurors would probably lay into her for going off script. Never mind that they did the same thing all the time.

Minerva had barely finished that thought when the man in the kilt entered an alleyway, stopped and suddenly turned around. Immediately, Minerva sat back on her haunches and started to clean herself in typical cat fashion. The first time she had done this, it had felt strange, but her cat body knew what to do and was perfectly comfortable with it. More importantly, Minerva had learned not to stare at people. For one thing, there were the markings around her eyes that someone who had checked the Animagus Registry might recognise, and then she had been told that her gaze could be a little too calculating for that of a normal cat.

She couldn't be sure if Kilt guy had noticed her or not, but either way her presence didn't seem to make him suspicious because he started moving again. He opened a door that had been very well hidden behind a couple of dumpsters. Minerva sprinted after him to squeeze through the door before it fell shut again.

Her tail almost got caught, but she made it. She found herself inside a bar. But it was nothing like the lively and welcoming Scottish pub Minerva had been to last night. This room was shady and virtually empty. Everyone who entered it (on two legs) would be noticed immediately. Then again, Minerva doubted that anyone who hadn't specifically been told that this pub existed would just venture in.

The man she had been chasing talked quietly to the bartender and then disappeared into the back. Minerva stuck to the walls and scurried underneath the chairs and tables because in here she would draw attention to herself, even as a cat. But since almost all the tables were empty and the bartender had gone back to polishing glasses with a dirty rag, Minerva made it to the back unnoticed.

There was a narrow hallway and the man in the kilt entered a room at the end of it and then closed the door behind him. No chance to get in there as a cat this time. Minerva still didn't know for sure if her hunch was correct. But she could have sworn that this man, wizard most likely, was only wearing a kilt because he didn't know any better. Because he didn't care to know about Muggles and their clothing habits. And this establishment was definitely not of an honest nature.

Even though it meant risking humiliation if she was wrong, the smart thing to do would have been to go back and tell the rest of the team. In fact, it was what she was obligated to do according to the protocol for operating in the field.

Instead, Minerva changed back into a human and charged through that door into the unknown.

This morning, they had all been told to exchange their work robes for something that allowed them to blend in. So Minerva had planned to pretend that she was just a Muggle who had stumbled into the wrong room on her way to the loo. But she quickly changed her mind when she saw that it truly was Eion Northcroft who was sitting in a corner booth of this back room, staring at her. The man in the kilt was still standing by the door, also gaping at her.

Minerva acted faster than he could recover from his surprise. She snatched the wand he was holding right out of his hand and stunned him with it.

Northcroft was a lot quicker on the uptake than his companion. Before his friend had even hit the ground, Northcroft was on his feet and sent a curse of his own Minerva's way. And not just any curse. The jet-green light of his Killing Curse missed her by a hair. She should have known that he would be aiming to kill, and it got her heart pumping and served as a reminder to get her head back in the game.

She wished for her own wand when she sent back a curse of her own, but this one would have to do. Northcroft blocked her curse with a Shield Charm, but it threw him off balance for a moment. A moment Minerva used to transfigure the coat rack behind him to come alive and grab him.

Before she could follow that up with another curse, Northcroft simply blew the coat rack to smithereens – and with it half of the room. Minerva instinctively changed back into a cat to minimise the chance of getting hit by the debris.

When the dust had settled, she could see that Northcroft had been hit by some of the blast from his own spell and he seemed a little dazed – and confused that his opponent had disappeared. Then his eyes found the Tabby cat and Minerva could see realisation dawn on his face.

She knew she didn't have long. Northcroft sent one more Killing Curse her way; Minerva launched for the wand she had dropped, transforming mid-launch. Back to being human, she landed on the floor a lot less elegantly than her feline self, but she grabbed the wand and bound Northcroft with an Anti-Disapparation-Jinx, followed in quick succession by the Incarcerous Spell – to make absolutely sure that he couldn't get away.

Now that Northcroft was secure, Minerva got up and walked over to him to pick up his wand. He started hurling insults at her, so she silenced him with "_Silencio!"._ He thanked her by rearing up and half throwing himself at her and half rolling into her, as that was the only way he could still move. Minerva toppled over and once she was down, Northcroft tried to bite her. She kicked him in the face to get away from him and then sent a Stunning Spell at him the same way she had with his friend.

Northcroft went slack and Minerva huffed. For a moment, she wondered what she was doing here, lying on the dusty floor of a half-demolished dirty pub with two criminals, who had put up a considerable effort to kill her. Then she decided that to get rid of these vile men was the only thing that mattered right now.

She lifted the Anti-Disapparition-Jinx and used the two wands she had conquered to contact the Aurors. One after the other they appeared, with reactions that ranged from anger and disbelief to grudging appreciation and approval. There was some backlash because of Minerva's decision to do this on her own, but no one could argue with the result (except, perhaps, for the damage done to this pub, but no Muggles seemed to have taken notice). Of course, the Aurors insisted on taking over from here, and Minerva was perfectly fine with that. Really, she just wanted to go home.

Naturally, that wasn't an option because there was a procedure that needed to be followed, reports that had to be made, and eventually, there would be paperwork, and lots of it. And more importantly, Minerva couldn't go anywhere without her wand. When Bainbridge finally showed up, he seemed torn between resentment, because she hadn't taken him along, and admiration. But all she really wanted from him was her wand.

He handed it to her with a nod and a, "You okay? Need someone to go to St. Mungo's with you?"

"I'm fine," Minerva replied, thanking him for her wand.

"Want to get a drink later then? To celebrate that it was the Magical Law Enforcement Squad who got this guy and not the Aurors?"

Technically, this hadn't been a team effort, but if thinking that he was involved in this, made Bainbridge like her more – and thus easier to work with – Minerva would take it. But she wasn't in the mood for another night out.

"Rain check?" she offered to let him down easy.

Perhaps she looked as knackered as she felt because Bainbridge agreed right away. "Sure thing."

But if she was completely honest, Minerva wasn't too keen on taking him up on that rain check. In fact, the next couple of days she tried to run into as few people at the office as possible because everyone asked her to recount her capture of Eion Northcroft.

The only friendly face, as always, was Elphinstone. And he greeted her with a particularly large grin when he asked her to come talk to him before going home a few days later.

"What's going on?" Minerva asked, feeling suspicious for some reason.

Elphinstone knew her well enough to tell. "You look as if I have ever given you bad news."

"Sometimes that's a matter of perspective," Minerva told him.

"True, true," Elphinstone nodded. "And this might be one of those times. But you definitely brought this on yourself."

"And what exactly is it that I did?"

"That's not the real question, is it? You know what you did. We all know. You are an extraordinarily brave woman."

As always when he complimented her in a voice that was just a little too hopeful, Minerva winced. But this time even more so than usual. Because by now, she had admitted to herself that going after Northcroft alone and unarmed hadn't been bravery but recklessness. She had toed the line before, as she supposed all Gryffindors had, but she had never crossed it without a very good reason. The other day she had blasted that line to kingdom come.

"Of course, it was always only a matter of time," Elphinstone continued.

"Until what exactly?" Minerva asked, not sure that they were on the same page in this conversation.

"There's going to be a new department, bit of a hybrid between us and the Auror Office, with a focus on profiling. That you followed that guy because he was wearing a kilt, well, it got people thinking... Anyway, they need someone to run it, and they want you."

Minerva stared at her boss, who was beaming right back at her. "Me?"

"Who else?" Elphinstone laughed. "You're perfect for it. And you're definitely way too gifted to stay where you are now, as much as it pains me to lose you. I would give you this office, but I'm not quite old enough to retire just yet."

"There is a lot of room between where I am now and being a department head," Minerva pointed out, still trying to process this.

Elphinstone wasn't deterred. It hadn't been his decision, but if they had asked him, he was sure to have given her a glowing recommendation. "Well, it'll be a very small department. You wouldn't be running all of Law Enforcement yet. But it's a first step in that direction, and then, there's nowhere to go but up, right? Up one floor, to be exact."

As hard as she tried, Minerva couldn't stop staring blankly at him. Not because it was sheer madness to mention her name in a conversation about future Ministers for Magic next to the likes of Albus Dumbledore (though it definitely was).

She stared because she had just finally realised that she was completely and utterly miserable.

She had been ever since she had started working here. That in itself wasn't entirely the Ministry's fault – other than being responsible for the status quo between wizards and Muggles – and Minerva had hoped that her feelings would pass or at least get better.

They had not.

Eventually, the long silence and the misery on her face seemed to register with Elphinstone. "You can take some time to think about it," he said haltingly. "And if there's anything you want to talk about, Minerva, I'm here..."

His voice trailed off there or maybe she just wouldn't let him finish. She never had.

"Thank you," Minerva said and she meant that. But she turned around and left to go home and be alone.

It was Friday night, which turned out to be a blessing and a curse. It meant that she could stay locked up in her flat all weekend without the need to talk to anyone or make a decision.

It also meant that she stayed locked up in her flat like a prisoner without getting anywhere near making a decision.

She thought about it all day and night. What to do about this promotion. It was an honour and a great opportunity. No doubt about that. Elphinstone's opinion of her was way too high, but he was right insofar that accepting this promotion would lay out a clear path for her.

A path that was as clear as the fact how unhappy she was to actually walk it.

Or any path she could see right now.

In her desperation, Minerva tried to think back to the last time she had known true happiness. A spectacularly bad idea because it led her right back to Dougal. And that door was closed to her forever.

Clearly, she had to go further back. Which left her with only one almost painfully obvious answer. Before she could lose her nerve, Minerva grabbed a piece of parchment and an owl.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for all your wonderful reviews on the last chapter. I'm really glad you enjoyed it, even thought it was a little different and despite Albus' absence. There's just so much going on in Minerva's life at this point that I wanted to delve into that and also reflect that this was probably the only time in her life when Albus Dumbledore was not on her mind, at least not consciously. But obviously, that's not going to continue, so stay tuned. :)**


	28. Homecoming

**28\. Homecoming**

"There you go, the list with the names of our new prefects and Head Girl and Boy, as discussed. And that's all for now, I think..." Armando said distractedly as he handed over the scroll of parchment.

Albus knew that he was in a hurry to leave for a trip to Boston he had been meaning to take, which included a meeting with the headmaster of Ilvermony. He was about to tell Armando to just go and leave the rest to him – he was fairly confident that he could handle an empty castle – when there was a knock on the window from an owl.

"I swear they know when I'm running late." With a sigh, Armando waved his wand to open the window and allow the owl to deliver its letter.

"I'll leave you to it then," Albus said, because when it came to getting too much mail, he wasn't much help to anyone.

"Albus, hold up!" Armando stopped him in his tracks. "This should be of interest to you, too. It's from a former student of yours."

Albus paused with his hand on the doorknob. "You'll have to be more specific, I'm afraid."

"It's from Minerva McGonagall. You remember her, don't you?" Armando gave him a funny look.

It was a purely rhetorical question so Albus saw no reason to answer. The question regarding the content of that letter, however, was more pertinent. Horace had gotten a letter, too, once, and he had lorded it over Albus for a week. It had been very annoying, even though Albus knew that Horace had practically blackmailed Minerva into writing him.

Still, he had to admit to being curious as to why she was now writing to the headmaster as well.

"What does it say?" he asked, turning back and resting his hands on the back of one of the chairs in front of the headmaster's desk.

Armando was skimming the letter. "Merlin's Beard, she's asking if I would consider her for a teaching post at Hogwarts." He lowered the scroll of parchment and looked up. "Did you know that she was interested in teaching?"

"She never spoke of it to me," Albus replied vaguely. There had been ample signs of her aptitude. But since she had set her sights on a more influential career path, he had never mentioned that to her. Also, it had felt selfish somehow.

"Well, you have been complaining about the workload of being Deputy Headmaster as well as the Head of the Transfiguration Department and Gryffindor house..." Armando said thoughtfully. "Might be time to get you some help."

Albus arched an eyebrow. "I wouldn't say that I've been 'complaining'."

"Fine, if you don't want any help, I can give her another post. She didn't specify Transfiguration. I could give her... Care of Magical Creatures. Make her try to rein in Silvanus. I had to put him on probation again..." Armando heaved a massive sigh.

"I'm not sure a post as our Care of Magical Creatures Professor would be particularly appropriate since she never actually took that subject," Albus pointed out.

"Right. Oh, well, it's not as if Silvanus' methods are appropriate. I'm sure she'd do fine." Armando chuckled. It was a headmaster's gallows humour, Albus supposed. "Speaking of which, why would she leave the Ministry, though?" Armando continued more seriously. "What's it been? Two years? And didn't I just read something about her being involved in the capture of Eion Northcroft?"

"I believe she was the one who captured him," Albus said. He hadn't kept tabs on her or anything. But his colleagues of the Wizengamot had talked about it and he couldn't not take notice of the fact that Minerva's name had come up.

Armando nodded. "That's what I thought. Then why would she quit that to become a teacher?"

"You do realise that you and I both made a similar choice?" Albus countered, feeling perhaps a little affronted.

"Of course, and I didn't mean it like that. I just meant that she's clearly on a great path right now," Armando explained.

"Perhaps not so clearly, since she doesn't seem to think so." Albus couldn't say that he was as surprised as Armando, curious maybe, but not surprised. He could think of a million reasons why Minerva didn't want to go forward at the Ministry. He hadn't hoped for that to happen, but he had thought it might. And if she had made the choice to turn away, Albus took that to mean that she was staying true to herself. Or true to the person he had known her to be. He had to remind himself that she was no longer the young girl he had once taught.

Armando seemed to think differently. "It's strange, though, isn't it? Like she's derailing her political career on purpose."

"I think she only asked for you to decide whether she meets the qualifications to come and teach at this school, not to judge her choices," Albus replied coolly.

"So you do want her," Armando said, looking smug.

Albus decided to overlook his poor choice of words and to stick to what was pertinent. "I do believe the students would benefit greatly from being taught by someone with her level of skill and passion."

"That's all I needed to hear." Smiling, Armando reached for a quill and a piece of parchment. "Then it looks like our Transfiguration Department will have a new teacher this year."

* * *

"_Dear Ms McGonagall,_

_Thank you for your letter and your interest in a teaching post at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

_I am pleased to offer you a position as Assistant Professor in our Transfiguration Department under Head of Department Professor Albus Dumbledore. _

_We ask that you arrive at the school by no later than a week before the start of term. Please let us know if you would like to take up living quarters in the castle. _

_If you have any further questions or inquiries, sent an owl directly to Professor Dumbledore as I will be out of the country for the summer. If not, I look forward to welcoming you back at Hogwarts for the new school year._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Armando Dippet_

_Headmaster_

* * *

Minerva stood in front of the closed gates of the Hogwarts grounds, gazing up at the castle. She had been unable to come to Robert's graduation because she'd been in St. Mungo's after a stupid accident at work, so she hadn't been back since the day she had left after her own graduation. But now that she was here, she felt like she simply hadn't realised how much she had missed it.

A familiar large shape came jogging towards the gate now, growing increasingly larger. "Sorry, sorry, didn't mean ter keep yeh waitin'," Hagrid called when he was close enough to open the gates.

"No matter. It gave me a chance to take it all in," Minerva replied.

Hagrid followed her gaze and looked towards the castle as it stood in the afternoon sun. "It's a beauty, ain't it?"

"It truly is," Minerva agreed wholeheartedly. "But I'm being expected up there, so I should stop standing here just to look at it."

"'Course, yer are. Let me help yeh with tha'," Hagrid said and reached for her luggage.

"Oh, no, there's no need..." Minerva could have easily used magic to get that up to the castle, but Hagrid seemed happy to carry it for her.

"'s no bother," he assured her, and since he looked like he could carry a mountain troll under each arm, she believed him.

They walked up to the castle together. "So how have you been?" Minerva asked to make some polite conversation.

"I'm great. Thanks fer askin'," Hagrid replied cheerfully.

"Then you like being the gamekeeper here?" She had always meant to ask him that, but she had never gotten the chance. Probably because when they had met in the Forbidden Forest, they had been too busy trying not to die to really talk. And after that, she had stayed far away.

Perhaps that was why Hagrid seemed so eager to keep her company now. He could still be under the impression that she blamed him for what had happened all those years ago. "Assistant, really. But I love it. Wouldn't wanna be anywhere else. Not that I knew where ter go. It was awfully nice of Professor Dumbledore ter fight fer me to be allowed ter stay."

"Yes, he's a great man to have in your corner," Minerva nodded.

"Right, you'd know tha'. He taught yeh to become an Animagus." Hagrid grinned. "And now you're gonna do the teachin'. Funny, eh?"

"Quite," Minerva said thoughtfully. "So how is your arachnid friend?" she asked to change the subject.

Hagrid almost dropped her suitcase in surprise. "Wha'? How'd yeh know about Aragog?"

"I didn't really, but you just told me." Minerva shook her head in disbelief. "Goodness gracious, it even has a name?" She'd only had her suspicions before and she wasn't entirely sure if she had actually wanted to know that they were true.

"'Course, he got a name. Everybody ought ter have a name, don't they?" Hagrid replied a little gruffly, which reminded Minerva of something Dumbledore had said to her once about the forest being a well-deserved home for many creatures.

Even years later she felt chastised. "Of course, I didn't mean to insult you or your friend. I'm sorry."

Her apology seemed to throw Hagrid completely. "Ah, that's no... There's no need fer yeh ter apologise ter _me_. You bein' a teacher an' all tha'."

"Hagrid, I haven't even started working here yet and even if I had, it wouldn't matter. You deserve as much respect as any other member of staff," Minerva told him.

Hagrid scratched his head at first, but then he grinned broadly, which, considering the size of his face, was rather impressive. "Thanks fer sayin' that! Yer goin' ter be a fine teacher, I can tell. If yeh ever need anythin' or wanna have a cup o' tea or somethin', come by my cabin anytime," he offered.

Then he seemed embarrassed and put down her luggage. They had almost reached the entrance to the castle. "Anyway, have a good firs' term!"

"Thank you, Hagrid," said Minerva and watched him walk away in the direction of the forest. He was a peculiar man, but he had such a gentle nature that Minerva understood why Dumbledore had defended him.

Now that Hagrid was gone, she pointed her wand at her suitcase and bid it to rise into the air and follow her.

She climbed the stairs towards the front door and stopped on the topmost step to take in the view of the surrounding lush green hills and the glittering lake. She took in a deep breath of Scottish summer air. "Oh yes, I've definitely missed this," she muttered.

"I daresay it has missed you, too."

Minerva whirled around, and after her initial surprise, her face split into a smile. "I see you're still sneaking up on people, Professor," she said to Dumbledore by way of greeting.

"Or, you were simply too – understandably – distracted to pay attention, _Professor,"_ he replied cheerfully.

She very nearly looked over her shoulder to see who he was addressing until she realised that it was her. She was a professor now! Apparently, she just wasn't prepared to hear it yet.

Dumbledore noticed her fleeting moment of confusion and said, "I figured we were being formal today since you are still calling me 'Professor'."

"What should I be calling you?" Minerva asked. It was strange. She felt almost as insecure as she had on her first day at school.

"Well, I happen to have four names for you to choose from," Dumbledore quipped.

It was an offer Minerva would have jumped on instantly when she had been younger and so very eager to prove herself – of what or to whom, she couldn't even say anymore. But now she was hesitant to proclaim herself his equal by using his Christian name. "That... will take some getting used to," she said honestly.

Dumbledore chuckled. "Fair enough." He stepped aside to allow her to enter.

He hadn't changed much. There was still that familiar twinkle in his bright blue eyes, his auburn hair was perhaps a little longer, but then they were technically still on holiday, so perhaps he simply hadn't cut it yet. He was also wearing everyday robes, which reminded Minerva that this wasn't an interview situation. She already had the job, as surreal as that was. All it had taken was an owl and the bare minimum of hours for a flight to Hogwarts and back.

"The headmaster was forced to extend his trip, but he's looking forward to meeting with you upon his return by the end of the week," Dumbledore informed her. "Until then, I'll do my best to make up for his absence, and in the meantime there is some work for us to do."

"That's fine. I'll just need to drop off my luggage."

"Oh, I didn't mean right this instant. I'm sure you'd like to get settled first," Dumbledore offered. "I trust that you had a pleasant journey?"

"Well, it was short." She had packed up her flat and Disapparated. There had been nothing sentimental about saying goodbye to London. Saying goodbye to Elphinstone and telling him that she had decided to quit had been another matter entirely. But he had understood in the end.

"Still not one for small talk, I see," Dumbledore said with a soft smile on his lips.

"Small talk is nothing but a substitute to cover for the absence of more stimulating conversation," Minerva replied.

Dumbledore laughed. "Then I guess I better come up with something meaningful to say."

"I've never known you to have any difficulty with that."

"That might be because it takes two equally sharp minds to carry such a conversation."

Minerva tried not to linger on that compliment for too long. She was here for a job, not to chat, even though it made her smile unexpectedly. "For now, I would be willing to settle for directions."

She might have forgotten some of her shortcuts, but she still remembered most of Hogwarts Castle. She didn't know where she was going to live, though. Certainly not up in Gryffindor Tower.

"Of course, right this way." Dumbledore indicated to her that she should proceed towards the grand staircase. Then he fell into step beside her and guided her towards a door on the first-floor corridor. "Here we are. Your office, Professor." He winked at her when he opened the door and stepped back to let her enter first.

Still trailed by her suitcase, Minerva set foot inside the room. As far as she knew, it had been empty during her time at school, but to her surprise, it didn't look like it had been abandoned for too long. On the large desk by the window sat a beautiful writing quill, made from a pheasant feather, next to a piece of parchment that was probably her contract. A fire was crackling merrily in the fireplace, which, considering the temperature outside, wouldn't have been necessary, but it made the room more welcoming. The set of armchairs in front of it had been dusted, and on the table between them stood a chessboard.

Her eyebrows raised, Minerva looked from the game to Dumbledore. "What's this?"

"Consider it a welcoming present. It's not every day that Hogwarts Castle gets to welcome home one of its best students."

Somehow Minerva doubted that the castle – or even its headmaster – knew about her fondness for chess. But it was a nice gesture all the same because she had actually regifted her old Wizard's Chess set to Malcolm. This entire room spoke of a thoughtfulness that almost made her tear up. Quickly, she turned away from Dumbledore.

"You may change whatever you like," he continued pleasantly as if to give her time to collect herself. "If you're interested in Enlarging Spells or Extension Charms you should talk to Horace. As you know, he's become somewhat of an expert. Though he might be less than pleased, should you intend to throw parties rival to his own."

Minerva couldn't hold back a snort of disbelief. "If I have ever given you the impression that I'm a party person, I must have done something very wrong."

Dumbledore's lips twitched. "It's been a few years. I didn't want to assume. After all, they might be throwing fabulous parties at the Ministry. I wouldn't know since I try to keep the length of my visits to a minimum."

"You haven't missed much," Minerva said drily. She let her eyes sweep the room again. They landed on a painting of a regal-looking woman. "And I would say your assumptions were perfectly correct, as usual," she added as she stepped towards the painting. She knew without a doubt that this was the hidden entrance to her living quarters.

"This wasn't here before, was it?" she asked.

"No, I believe its previous home was in a corridor on the fifth floor. I walked past it by accident the other day, looking for a bathroom, and I thought it would be rather fitting. It's a portrait of…"

"... Mary, Queen of Scots," Minerva finished his sentence.

Dumbledore smiled in confirmation, and Minerva felt as embarrassed as Hagrid had done earlier. She didn't deserve all this special attention.

She locked eyes with the Scottish queen and without a word, the painting swung open to reveal a hidden door. Clearly, the office was meant to double as a sitting room, though, because all she found behind that door was a sparse, stone-floored bedroom and an en-suite bathroom.

"It's not much, I'm afraid," Dumbledore said from the other side of the doorway. Perhaps he thought that now that this was her bedroom, it wasn't appropriate anymore to follow her inside.

Also, there wasn't much to see. But the late afternoon sun that filtered through the window did its best to keep out the cold. And that was all Minerva needed, knowing that the castle would provide her with the rest. She directed her luggage to drop down next to the bed.

"It's more than enough," she said.

"Excellent. I shall leave you to unpack and settle in then," Dumbledore said. "We can discuss the teaching schedule tomorrow morning. I will meet you in the staff room."

Minerva nodded. "Thank you," she added. "For the warm welcome."

Dumbledore merely smiled. "Have a nice evening. And make sure to remember your dreams tonight. I hear whatever one dreams in the first night in a new home has been known to have prophetic properties."

"Prophecies, really?"

"Ah, you're a teacher now. So you'll have to be a little more diplomatic when it comes to your, shall we say, disinclination to certain branches of magic."

"What if I dream that I will die a very painful death before the end of my first term here?" Minerva challenged him.

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "Do you often dream of your impending demise?"

"It wasn't altogether unlikely in my previous line of work," Minerva said with a shrug of her shoulders. Plus, there were dreams, beautiful dreams, that could hurt a lot more than a nightmare.

"But you're back in Hogwarts now, so I think you can exchange those dreams for something a little more cheerful," Dumbledore suggested before he turned to leave.

"Fine, what was yours then?" Minerva called after him.

Dumbledore paused. "What did I dream my first night here? Why, of course, I dreamt that I'd be eating lots of pudding."

With that answer, he left her behind to shake her head. She had forgotten how eccentric he could be. But her lips were curled up into a smile when she started unpacking.

It didn't take her very long. Minerva had never truly felt at home in London, so her flat hadn't been filled with many personal items. It was mostly just books and clothes and a few pictures. A hand-woven bedspread in Gryffindor colours was the only truly decorative item. It brightened the place up significantly. After all, Minerva wasn't above showing some house pride, though she supposed she would have to watch herself now that she was a teacher.

The last thing she unpacked were the letters from Dougal. They weren't real letters actually, more like notes, since they had practically seen each other every day. But on the rare occasions when they hadn't been able to, Dougal had dropped these off at the manse for her, counting the hours until they would see each other again.

She had thought about throwing them out a million times, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. They were nothing but a painful reminder now. Still, it was better to keep these letters locked away under her bed than her wand.

Right?

There was no answer. Because she was just as alone in this new bedroom as she had been in London. But she wasn't in London anymore. She was home. So rather than dwell on the box with letters, Minerva grabbed a cloak and took a long walk around the lake.

It didn't chase all of the ghosts away, but the fresh air lifted her spirits and cleared her head. At least, being alone meant that she could breathe freely. And she had tomorrow to look forward to. She was a little nervous but excited to focus on her new teaching career and to start discussing the basics with Dumbledore. It was daunting to have to start all over again, but she could use the challenge. And it wasn't as though Dumbledore had ever steered her wrong.

Tired from her walk and her swirling thoughts, Minerva went to bed early.

For whatever it was worth, she didn't dream that she was going to die. Even though she was surrounded by flames in her dream. But strangely, they didn't burn her, because they weren't ordinary flames. It wasn't even real fire.

It was phoenix fire.

* * *

**A/N: And we're back at Hogwarts! While I wanted to show what happened to Minerva after her graduation, I couldn't keep her away from Albus for too long, because I missed writing the two of them together. I'm guessing you don't mind. :) As always, thanks for your really wonderful reviews. Every single one makes me so happy.**


	29. Starting Over

**A/N: It's been a bit of a crazy week (also, my birthday, yay), but I didn't want to leave you all waiting, because your love and support for this story have been amazing. So I found the time to finish this next chapter. Hope you enjoy. :)**

* * *

**29\. Starting Over**

When Albus entered the staff room, he was late. This always happened after a trip to the Hogwarts kitchens. For about a second Albus entertained the hope that he might not have to apologise because they had only loosely agreed on a time to meet today. But he should have known better. Of course, Minerva was already waiting for him.

She looked up at his entrance and Albus suppressed a smile. She was wearing pristine dark red robes with black highlights. She had wrangled her hair into an intricate sideways French braid and her green eyes shone with a bright intensity. Everything about her appearance screamed that she was ready to get down to business. It made it very easy to forget how incredibly young she still was. When Albus had talked to her yesterday, it had felt like he had just met an old soul that called out to his own. He just hadn't figured out yet if that was a good thing.

"I apologise for my tardiness. I thought we might enjoy a light brunch." Albus waved his wand and the food from the kitchens appeared on the long table.

Minerva's eyes widened as she took in the variety of choices. "Light?"

"I think the house-elves are bored with feeding only me," Dumbledore explained as he sat down. The new term wouldn't start for another week, so the other teachers weren't required or expected to dwell in the castle just yet. "They seemed delighted when I told them that it's two of us now."

Minerva's brow furrowed. "Couldn't we send them on holiday as well?"

"I suggested that once," Albus said, smiling at her for her forward thinking. "And then they burned my eggs for a week."

A fleeting smile crossed her face. "Well, that's one way of expressing their opinion, I guess."

"No, they were just in shock," Albus replied. "But just to be safe, we shouldn't offend them. Please." He indicated that she should help herself to some of the food. Since she clearly hadn't been in the kitchens yet, he suspected that she hadn't eaten since yesterday afternoon.

"By the way, even though there are no official meals during the summer holidays, you're welcome to anything that's in the kitchens. No need to always do your own shopping in Hogsmeade. Just make sure you have enough time if you plan to argue with the house-elves about cooking it yourself."

She gave a little snort but nodded.

"And of course, you're free to leave the castle any time you like, but the gates to the castle and the grounds will be locked and need to stay that way if it's past the students' curfew. Not that there aren't other ways out of the castle if one really wants to find them. And Heads of House are expected to be available for their students to turn to at all hours, if at all possible, but you know that," Albus finished with a smile.

Pausing with a cup of tea halfway to her mouth, Minerva said with a wry smile, "Sounds exhausting."

"It can be. But there are certain benefits. For example, Heads of House get away with a certain amount of bias that other teachers are strongly discouraged from displaying."

"I would think that all teachers are expected to treat their students fairly and impartial," Minerva pointed out indignantly.

"Of course, students and colleagues alike," Albus nodded.

It was only a subtle hint, but she caught it right away. "I'll be civil as long as _she_ is, too."

Albus smirked and decided not to push it and to trust that he wouldn't be called upon to settle a duel between Professors McGonagall and Narramore. He doubted that the latter would survive long enough for him to arrive.

He helped himself to some eggs and changed the topic. "So, I must admit to being curious if you'll allow me," he said, and he didn't fail to notice that Minerva's eyes immediately became guarded.

Well, that was new. The student he had once known had generally been open and honest to a fault. But surely, the question he was meaning to ask wasn't the one she was wary of.

"What did you dream last night?"

She seemed relieved and flustered at the same time. After a beat, she said, "Butterflies."

"Butterflies?" Albus echoed.

"That's what I said," Minerva confirmed, but she fidgeted in her chair and dropped her gaze to her buttered toast.

At least, she was still a terrible liar.

"I know. My hearing is excellent, thank you very much."

"But you don't believe me." It wasn't a question.

"It seems a rather remarkable change from the kind of sinister dreams you described to me yesterday," Albus hedged. She was under no obligation to tell him anything of such a personal nature, but it was somewhat disappointing that she had chosen to lie instead. And he was very much in untested waters because he couldn't tell her off for it anymore.

The look she gave him when she lifted her eyes now made that perfectly clear. "Well, I don't believe that you dreamt of pudding either."

There was a moment when neither one of them said anything. This was when she had always looked away eventually – as a young girl out of respect and later, he suspected, out of fear that he might try to read her mind. Today, she did neither.

"Alas, I didn't imagine we would start our working relationship with accusations," he said, bemused.

That's when Minerva huffed and leaned back in her chair. "Fine, it wasn't butterflies. It was..." She struggled to find the right words, the kind she was willing to share with him. "I think it was exactly what you had talked about. That I'd be safe at Hogwarts."

Albus smiled. "I'm happy to hear that."

Rather than smile, she gave him a prompting look.

"I'm sorry, but I really did dream of pudding," Albus told her. "I have a bit of a sweet tooth, you know."

"Yes, I know," Minerva said, and finally, she smiled.

But it seemed safer not to wade deeper into that mine field. Not today, anyway. There really was some work that needed to be done, first and foremost reorganising the Transfiguration Department.

"Now, let's talk about the teaching schedule, shall we?" Albus waved his wand, and it wasn't long until they had pushed the food aside to make room for several bottles of ink and scrolls of parchment.

Drawing up the timetables for the new school year was always a hassle that never failed to give him a headache. Having a new teacher for Transfiguration to work with made it a little easier, and it turned out that Minerva had a keen eye for the whole process. Based on her meticulous schoolwork, Albus had long since suspected that she was a lot more organised than he had ever been. It gave him an idea, but since she hadn't even started teaching yet, he really shouldn't get ahead of himself.

Then again, most of his ideas proved to be rather brilliant, though certainly not all. He had a feeling that Minerva would agree with that. Funnily enough, as forthright as she was when it came to pointing out mistakes in his own work, she wasn't quite so confident in her ability to do better.

"You really want me to teach the sixth-years?" she asked, her eyes round with hesitation.

"Were you planning on spending the entirety of your first term teaching students how to turn matches into needles?" Albus asked in return.

Minerva gave a noncommittal nod. "Actually, yes, I thought I might."

"I think that would be a colossal waste of your intellect," Albus replied. "We wouldn't want to bore you, after all."

She didn't pay the compliment any mind. "But I know nothing about teaching."

"Didn't you lead a study group during your final years here at Hogwarts?"

"I did..."

"And didn't you teach your friend Miss Augusta Longbottom how to properly perform a Vanishing Spell so she wouldn't fail her Transfiguration O.W.L.?"

"Well, I..."

"And during your very first year at this school didn't you help one of your classmates to improve her spell work enough so she wouldn't have to repeat the year or even leave Hogwarts altogether?"

"Those situations were all very different," Minerva said sharply, as if daring him to quote one more example of her glaringly obvious talent to mentor others.

Albus settled for a simple, "How so?"

"I was still a student myself then. I only acted on instinct, doing the best I could, and no one expected anything else. No one could have held me accountable had I done something wrong." She shook her head. "I'm sure the parents of my potential students would feel differently now."

"I would have thought that you of all people would be very much in favour of each of us being held accountable for our own actions," Albus pointed out.

"I am, which is why I generally try to choose wisely."

"Then feel free to blame me afterwards because in this case I am choosing for you. That is my prerogative, I'm afraid, as Head of our department." He pushed the scroll of parchment towards her. It's not as if he was giving her an O.W.L. or a N.E.W.T. class, but he did have every intention of challenging her. They both knew that was the best way for her to thrive.

Although, in this moment, Minerva looked a little less certain of that than he felt. Albus chuckled. "You look as if I'm throwing you to the wolves. Personally, I find our sixth-years to be a lot more sensible than our fourth- or third-years."

"I guess I'll take your word for it."

"You won't have to for much longer." He winked her. "But as there is still some time left before the new term starts, I'd like you to draw up a couple of lesson plans and then we can discuss those in greater detail over the next few days." He didn't really think that was necessary, but Minerva seemed glad to have been given a task she would most likely excel at.

Some things didn't change.

She was also self-aware enough, however, to notice that. "So, you're still giving me homework then."

"So it seems. But how about we exchange the grades for a dinner invitation? I was thinking about giving the house-elves a very much not wanted break and eating dinner at theThree Broomsticks tonight. Perhaps you'd like to join me?" he offered.

Albus tried not to take it personally when Minerva hesitated. Over the years, he had often seen parts of himself in her, mostly when it came to her startling talent and moral fibre. But it seemed that she had developed another one of his traits, one that he had never wished for anyone else to inherit. A need for privacy that more often than not tended to leave you isolated.

Whatever was going through her mind exactly, Albus was relieved to see that she settled on a smile. "Of course, I've been looking forward to a trip to Hogsmeade."

"It hasn't changed much," Albus informed her. "Somehow, it never does."

"That," Minerva said, "actually sounds perfect."

* * *

The Three Broomsticks really did look exactly as Minerva remembered it. It filled her with a bit of nostalgia until she realised that there was no need. She could come here any time now. Briefly, she wondered if that would make it less appealing. But for now, the thought lifted her spirits and to celebrate that she ordered a Butterbeer.

"I see you're planning to drink me under the table tonight," Dumbledore commented on her light choice of beverage.

"Says the man with the Gillywater," she countered.

Dumbledore chuckled. "What can I say? If you're not a party person, I'm practically a hermit. But I've lived at least half of my life already. So I'm allowed."

Minerva frowned. "I don't see why age should be the determining factor here."

"Well, I suppose most people feel that they only have a certain amount of time to live their lives to the fullest before a sense of responsibility and reason kicks in."

His words made her think of what had happened when that sense of responsibility and reason had kicked in for her, or rather, when they had momentarily gone away. But she had come here tonight, determined to only make light conversation, so she merely sipped her Butterbeer.

"They don't make them like this in London," she said and then winced when she realised what opening she had just presented Dumbledore with.

But all he said was, "I quite agree."

"Then why do you look positively nauseated?"

"Ah, we had a little incident involving Butterbeer shortly before the end of last term. A couple of seventh-years staged a splendid celebration, and let's just say, the castle smelled of stale Butterbeer for days," Dumbledore told her and paused when he saw the look on her face. "You know, as a teacher you should at least pretend to be a little appalled."

"It's not about what the students did..." Minerva pressed her lips together, but she was still smirking. "I was just imagining the look on Apollyon Pringle's face when he was told to clean that up."

"For someone who hasn't even been officially introduced to most of the staff you have a surprising number of vendettas already," Dumbledore noted, but his eyes were alight with amusement.

Minerva shrugged. "My contract doesn't say that I have to like a man who's tried to hurt my brother. I'm the only one who's allowed to do that. Well, me and his own stupidity."

"How is Robert?" Dumbledore asked, seemingly eager not to talk about the Hogwarts caretaker anymore. "What's he doing now? He seemed rather unconcerned with it during our Career Advice meeting."

"He still is. He says he needs to clear his head before he can decide what he wants to do, so he's gone traveling."

"I see. Good for him."

"Is it?" If Minerva hadn't just quit the first career she had chosen when coming right out of Hogwarts, she would have told Junior to get his act together.

Dumbledore thanked the waitress for bringing their food before he answered. "In my time it was a bit of a tradition to go traveling across Europe after school. It's what I had wanted to do after graduating Hogwarts."

Before she could stop herself, Minerva asked, "Then why didn't you?"

"Life made other plans," Dumbledore said slowly.

"Doesn't it always?" Minerva muttered.

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. "Indeed."

_Great job making light conversation, Minerva,_ she thought wryly as they both quietly pushed food around their plates.

"So how about your other brother? What does he think about his big sister coming back to teach?" Dumbledore asked more cheerfully.

"He's mortified, I imagine, but too kind to say so." Minerva's mouth twitched. "Though I suspect that won't stop him from asking me if I can give him the answers to his O.W.L. exams. Which I won't, of course."

"I never thought you would," Dumbledore assured her.

"Speaking of Malcolm, are there any rules other than that I'm obviously not allowed to teach his class? Can I take points from him?"

"Are you planning to take points from your own brother?"

Minerva shrugged. "If he does something stupid."

"Tough love?" Dumbledore asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"Is there any other kind?" Minerva retorted.

"I truly hope so," Dumbledore said softly.

To which Minerva had no response.

"Well, you are under no restrictions when it comes to awarding or deducting points, though you're expected to use the privilege responsibly," Dumbledore answered her original question.

Minerva frowned. "So, really, there are not many rules for teachers at all."

"The position was originally held in very high esteem and paid a lot more respect than it is today. The founders of Hogwarts would have found the idea to restrict their right to do as they pleased quite preposterous."

"But it's been hundreds of years since then!"

Dumbledore chewed on his pie for a moment. "As I told you once before, some things need a very long time to change. But if you have any ideas, you're welcome to discuss them with Professor Dippet. Just don't expect him to be too enthusiastic if you ask him to reconsider some of his own power."

"You must think I'm being preposterous, too." Minerva lowered her fork and leaned back in her chair.

"On the contrary, I've been teaching for quite some time now. I'd be delighted to hear your thoughts on the matter."

Whether that was indeed the case or whether Dumbledore was just humouring her, they spent the rest of their dinner discussing the school and how things at Hogwarts were being run.

Dusk had settled by the time they left the Three Broomsticks_. _The clouds were dark and heavy and when they were halfway back to the castle, they found out why. The first raindrops that landed on Minerva's face were soft, but then they quickened and hardened into a sudden downpour.

"Oh dear," Dumbledore muttered and reached for his wand, presumably to perform some kind of protective charm.

Laughter bubbled up in Minerva's throat and she started sprinting through the rain without bothering with some sort of cover. She couldn't even say what made her do it. It wasn't as though it hadn't rained in London – it most definitely had – but somehow this felt different. Like being washed clean. Or perhaps two Butterbeer were enough to go to her head these days.

After a moment of understandable surprise, Dumbledore put away his wand and simply followed her lead.

They arrived on the front steps of the castle, both windswept, thoroughly drenched, with wet hair, that now had almost the same dark colour, plastered to their faces, and out of breath.

"You know if both of us get sick, those sixth-years won't have anyone to teach them," Dumbledore said.

"I won't get sick from some proper Scottish rain," Minerva replied with a silly grin. "But I can't speak for you, of course."

Dumbledore's eyes were bright and not the least bit worried. "Oh, I have a feeling you'll keep me young."

He shook off some of the water and Minerva caught a whiff of phoenix feather, lemon grass and summer rain. Or so she thought. She very nearly took a step closer to find out, but instead she made herself push open the gate to the Entrance Hall.

"Good night, Professor," she said, stepping inside. "Any suggestions as to what I should be dreaming about tonight?" she quipped.

"Only what we should all try to be dreaming of," Dumbledore replied with a smile. "Whatever is our heart's desire."

* * *

"So it's true then."

Minerva looked up from her lesson plans and was met by a face that was new and old at the same time. Professor Horace Slughorn was exactly as rotund, flamboyant and affable as she remembered him. Right now, the smile on his face was a little less bright, though.

"Hello, Professor," Minerva still said friendly.

"Oh no, it's Horace now, my dear girl…" he replied, approaching her seat at the staff table. "… uh, I mean, my dear esteemed colleague."

"Minerva will do," she said as she rose from her chair to shake the hand he offered her.

"Wonderful!" Slughorn clasped her hand in both of his and didn't let go again. "Then tell me, Minerva, whatever are you doing here?"

Irritated, Minerva looked from her hand that he held hostage back up to his face – or rather down, because Minerva was actually taller than him. "I'm here for the staff meeting before the start of term tomorrow."

"Yes, yes, that's why we're all here. I only just arrived in the castle from a most enjoyable holiday on… Well, never mind now," Slughorn interrupted himself impatiently. "What I meant was why did you come back here to teach?"

Leave it to Horace Slughorn to ask the one question Minerva had managed to avoid all week with Dumbledore. "Well, as you know, I've always had a knack for Transfiguration…"

"A knack? That's an understatement if I've ever heard one," Slughorn laughed.

"Thank you," Minerva replied haltingly.

"Of course, of course, your accomplishments in class were astonishing, but that's exactly why you should be using them for more important things than to return to the classroom!"

Annoyed, Minerva finally pulled her hand back and fought the urge to wipe her palm on her robes. "More important things? How can you say that teaching isn't a worthwhile profession? You are a teacher!"

"Oh, but of course it's a marvellous and perfectly respectable job! For people like me," Slughorn replied. "But you, you could have been Minister for Magic!"

"Why does everyone keep saying that?" Minerva huffed, talking to herself more than anyone else and not expecting an answer.

She still got one. "Because it's true, I imagine," Dumbledore said as he entered the room now. "Even the Ministry can recognise excellence when it's right in their midst."

Minerva glared at him, feeling a little betrayed. "You're one to talk. You never wanted the bloody job."

"Indeed, I did not, and I was in no way criticising. I was merely stating the obvious, as they like to say."

"Well, it's a little late for that, Albus. She's already here now!" Slughorn interjected.

"I am well aware of that, Horace, and I don't see any reason why you should feel anything but pleased about that," Dumbledore said, turning towards him. "Now, I trust that you had a good summer?"

Before Slughorn could answer, the door to the staff room was opened again. The man who entered on one real and one wooden leg strode right towards Minerva after he had surveyed them all for a moment.

"Heard we had a new addition this year!" he said and pulled her in for a hug.

Caught off guard and uncomfortable with being touched like that without her permission, Minerva stood awkwardly, not sure what to do with her arms.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Silvanus, I'm sure Professor McGonagall appreciates your enthusiasm, but she would appreciate it a little more if you let her breathe."

"Right, sorry." Silvanus Kettleburn released her and stepped back. "No offense. Just wanted to properly welcome you to Hogwarts."

"It's not as if she's a stranger to us or the castle," Slughorn pointed out.

"She's not?" Kettleburn looked at her as though under a magnifying glass. "Do I know you?"

Minerva tried to muster a polite smile. "Sort of. I never took one of your classes."

"Huh," said Kettleburn. "Oh, well, it's not for everyone. Requires some backbone, if you know what I mean." He patted his wooden leg. "Anyway, I look forward to getting to know you now then."

"Likewise," was all Minerva managed before Professor Beery joined them.

She almost ducked behind a chair because he approached her with similar enthusiasm as Professor Kettleburn had done. Thankfully, Beery didn't try to embrace her, though. He just sort of patted her on the back as though she were a child he wanted to congratulate for a job well done.

How Minerva wished for another female teacher!

Naturally, that's when Professor Narramore swept into the room and Minerva almost bit off her tongue, trying to take that wish back.

Contrary to her colleagues, Narramore did not approach Minerva. Instead, she drew to a sudden halt when she spotted her. "You," she breathed. "What are you doing here?"

"Shouldn't you have already foreseen that?" asked Kettleburn from where he had settled at the table and hoisted up his fake leg. Minerva instantly forgave him for hugging her.

"My Inner Eye isn't trained to deal with such mundane things," Narramore replied in a voice that was exactly as nightmarish as Minerva remembered.

After a prompting look from Dumbledore, she plastered a smile on her face. "Professor Dippet hired me as Assistant Transfiguration Professor."

Narramore's eyes went from her to Dumbledore. "As assistant to Professor Dumbledore, you mean."

"Yes," Minerva said, clipped.

"Well, _that_ I did foresee years ago," Narramore said smugly and sat down.

Deciding that she was done with greetings, Minerva also returned to her chair and her lesson plans with the notes Dumbledore had given her on them. Her eyes fell on a smiley face he had drawn and she took it as a reminder to take her colleagues' behaviour in stride.

Later, Cyrille Sowerby claimed the seat to her right with a cordial but no-nonsense hello and with Dumbledore shielding her from Narramore's haughty looks on her other side, Minerva began to feel like she was in the right place.

* * *

The sixth-years were waiting outside the classroom. They were chatting excitedly – not about the lesson that was about to begin but about the summer holidays that lay behind them. This day and this particular class weren't special to them in any way.

Minerva took a deep breath, collecting her focus.

"Ready?" Dumbledore asked with a kind smile. As Head of the Transfiguration Department, he would supervise her classes for the time being. She had thought that might make her nervous, but right now she appreciated his silent support.

And she was ready, or as ready as she would ever be. She had spent a ridiculous amount of time earlier this morning to pick out her sharpest robes and to braid her hair until she was certain that nothing was out of place. Minerva squared her shoulders and briskly headed for the classroom door to open it.

The students filed inside and Dumbledore brought up the rear, taking a seat in the back of the room.

"Good morning. I know that Professor Dippet introduced me last night, but in case that you were too busy enjoying the excellent feast, I'm Professor McGonagall and I will be your Transfiguration teacher this year. As I…"

She didn't get any further because the door to the classroom was thrown open once again and a boy with blonde hair and Gryffindor robes came bursting in, breathing heavily. "Sorry I'm late, uh, Professor," he tripped over the title when he didn't recognise her.

"Class has already started and I expect all of you to show your classmates and me the common courtesy of being on time," Minerva replied coolly. "Ten points from Gryffindor."

A hush fell over the class. No one had known what to expect from her. Since she was still young, not that much older than the students, she hadn't automatically commanded respect. Minerva could feel that this had just changed. Perhaps taking ten points – and from her old house at that – was a bit harsh, but she hoped to teach these students more than one lesson today. And she wouldn't tolerate tardiness or disrespect, certainly not from students who were relatively close to graduating.

Her eyes strayed to Dumbledore in the back. He had an eyebrow raised, but he just smiled at her when he caught her looking.

Minerva returned to what she had originally planned to do before the interruption, namely to check the attendance list because she didn't know any of the names yet. "Now, this year you will become familiar with a new and immensely difficult branch of Transfiguration magic – the art of Human Transfiguration," she said when she was finished and everyone was accounted for. "Can someone give me a definition of what a Human Transfiguration is?" she asked, trying not to show that she was just a little bit worried about what she should do if no one would be willing or able to answer her questions.

Thankfully, a hand went up in the front row. It was another Gryffindor, one of the two Prewett brothers, if Minerva remembered correctly. "It's a sub-type of Transformation magic, in which one transfigures either individual human body parts or even an entire human being into another form, either animate or inanimate."

Minerva made a mental note to remember the name of this particular student because that was a flawless definition. "That is correct. As such, experiments with this magic should not be undertaken lightly because the only subjects available for practising will be yourselves."

This time, the excited murmurs did have to do with the lesson. A Ravenclaw girl in the back raised her hand. "Would an Animagus then also be considered a Human Transfiguration?"

"Can anyone answer that?" Minerva gave the question back to the class. If she had learned anything from Dumbledore, then it was never to answer a question herself if someone else could do it.

"An Animagus would be a cross between a Human Transfiguration and a Trans-Species Transformation."

"Right again," Minerva nodded, wondering whether she should give Mr. Prewett points for having answered two questions now. But she had always thought awarding points for simple participation in class was a bit soft.

Before she could decide, there was another question. "Aren't you an Animagus, Professor?" A boy from Hufflepuff eyed her shrewdly. Technically, these students were old enough to have known Minerva as a student, though she had hoped that no one would remember that embarrassing fall during her final Quidditch match.

"Yes, I am," she confirmed.

"Can you show us?"

Minerva hesitated. She wasn't one for show-and-tell, but she realised that she now had the rapt attention of the entire class. It seemed foolish to waste that. So she jumped onto her desk, landing softly as a Tabby cat, and then jumped back down, landing on her own two human feet.

The respect of the class for her skyrocketed instantly and there was even some applause, which was silly, but also unexpectedly touching.

"Can we do that, too, by the end of the year?" someone asked.

Minerva suppressed a moan. She had walked straight into that one. "I'm afraid not. Becoming an Animagus is even more difficult than the most complex Human Transfiguration, not to mention entirely too dangerous for you to attempt this year."

Dumbledore had been completely quiet so far. Now he chortled in the corner, covering it with a horribly false cough.

Since half of the class turned to look at him, Minerva asked, "Do you need a glass of water, Professor?"

"Oh no, thank you, it's just allergies. Never mind me," Dumbledore replied cheerfully.

"Like I said, when it comes to Human Transfiguration, you will need to start small," Minerva continued. She surveyed the class and her eyes landed on the Gryffindor she had punished earlier, who looked the least happy.

She asked him and Mr. Prewett to come to the front of the class and then she explained to them the simplest spell for changing the colour of each other's eyebrows. With some help from her when it came to executing the spell, both boys had differently coloured eyebrows by the end of class.

When the bell rang, the students left without even complaining about the homework Minerva had given them.

Eventually, it was only her and Dumbledore left.

"Well?" she asked.

He beamed at her. "I think that went very well, except for my very rude interruption, of course. I just had the strangest sense of déjà vu, you know…"

Minerva rolled her eyes at him and marched out of the room.

She learned quickly that she should have shown herself more appreciative. Dumbledore was supposed to observe as many of her classes as possible, not just one. But somewhere in the middle of the next one, he stopped watching and started reading a book. In the one after that (admittedly a not very exciting class involving first-years and matches), he kept dozing off in his chair, which was incredibly distracting since he sat right in Minerva's line of sight. Not to mention slightly offensive.

Not as offensive, though, as when he eventually got up in one of her classes and left halfway through. That rankled her so much that Minerva almost forgot her entire lesson plan for that particular class.

Incensed, she rounded on him in his study at the end of that day. "What was that? Leaving in the middle of class?"

"Well, I remembered that I had a whole bunch of essays waiting for me to mark and that seemed like a more valuable use of my time," he replied rather unconcerned.

"More valuable?" Minerva echoed. "But I'm supposed to learn from you! How do you expect me to do that if you're not actually there?"

His gaze more serious now, Dumbledore looked up at her from behind his desk. "I have been your teacher for almost ten years. I have literally nothing left to teach you, and to be perfectly honest, I would like to be done now."

Minerva took a step back as though his words had physically stung her. "I wasn't aware that I was such a burden to you."

Dumbledore shook his head as though she was the one who was being unreasonable here. "I can only hope you don't actually think that is what I'm saying."

"Then what are you saying?"

"I don't want to be your teacher anymore because I would very much prefer to be your colleague, perhaps even a friend."

"Oh." Surprised and embarrassed about her little outburst, Minerva opened her mouth and closed it again. "Then... I guess… I will let you get back to your essays now."

"That's very considerate of you. Of course, if you still insist on learning, you'd be very welcome to mark these essays for me…"

"I'm sorry, Professor, but I can't do that. I have my own homework assignments from my own students to check," Minerva replied with a cautious smile.

Dumbledore smiled back at her. "Yes, I suppose you do."


	30. Souls of Sorrow

**A/N: I planned to have this up on Friday, but work got in the way. And this is a pretty important chapter, so I wanted to get it right. Excited to hear if you like it. :)**

* * *

**30\. Souls of Sorrow**

Every morning when the owls arrived in the middle of breakfast, the students weren't the only ones who got mail. At the High Table, Albus payed for his newspaper while Horace eagerly accepted a fairly large package and Minerva opened a handwritten letter.

"Finally! I was beginning to think that I had paid for the express overweight delivery for nothing," Horace said as he ripped into his package.

Albus glimpsed several bottles filled with some kind of amber liquid. "Planning another party?"

"Oh no, these are for me. You see, I've recently discovered that the Scandinavians know a thing or two about making excellent mead," Horace explained. "Wait till you try it. Actually, why don't you come by my study tonight? Have a little nightcap?"

"Well, I suppose I…"

His answer was interrupted by the shattering of a teacup on the floor, after it had clearly just slipped from Minerva's hand.

When both Albus and Horace looked at her, she muttered a barely audible apology and waved her wand to repair the cup and mop up the spill. Her hand was shaking.

"Are you…?" Again, Albus didn't get to finish his sentence.

"I need to prepare for class," Minerva cut him off, stood abruptly and fled the table.

"Must have been one hell of a letter," Horace commented with a shrug and reached for Minerva's untouched plate to add her eggs to his own.

"Must have been," Albus replied thoughtfully.

Perhaps there was something in the air because it turned into one of those accident-prone days. In every class, at least one student managed to melt their fingers together, make their vocal cords disappear or set their classmates' robes on fire. It was enough for Albus to gladly accept that nightcap Horace had offered him. He couldn't say if the mead was better or worse than other mead he had tasted, but he paid more attention to the company and the conversation anyway.

It was very late when he left to go to bed. First, he made a beeline for the Transfiguration classroom. He couldn't remember if he had removed the scorch marks after that fire incident from earlier. It had been that kind of a day.

To his surprise, Albus discovered that the classroom door stood slightly ajar. Perhaps somebody else had already thought to clean up in there. When he opened the door further, Albus froze on the threshold, not prepared for what he had just found.

Minerva was sitting on the floor in the dimly lit classroom with her back against the teacher's desk, her knees drawn up to her chest, and she was crying.

For a moment, Albus hesitated. Minerva hadn't noticed him yet and so he could have simply retreated and left her be without intruding on her privacy. So far, she had established very clear boundaries around herself and Albus was sure that she wouldn't want anyone to see her like this. It seemed cruel to add to her anguish by also hurting her pride.

But then she let out a strangled sob that sounded as though it had been torn right from the pit of her soul, and there was truly only one right choice to make.

Albus entered the classroom, closing the door behind him, and then he briskly walked over to where Minerva was sitting and lowered himself to the ground right next to her. When she noticed him, her red-rimmed, tired eyes widened with the shock and embarrassment Albus had anticipated. He ignored it and gently wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

He didn't mean to overstep or push her. Except, maybe he did. He respected her need for privacy. Everyone who had ever known him knew that he shared that need. But her tears formed a language that he understood only too well. It was a language of pain and heartbreak that he, too, had learned. And he refused to let her suffer alone.

Finally, Minerva released the tight hold she had on herself and curled into him. For the longest time, she cried and Albus listened.

Eventually, her tears dried up and she managed to sit up a little straighter and to find command over her voice again. Unsurprisingly, her first words were, "I'm sorry, Professor." But what she said next, he hadn't expected. "I'm a fraud."

"My dear Minerva, I've known you to be many things and even when you've acted rashly or chosen wrong, you couldn't have been further from being false," Albus replied calmly.

She only shook her head. "I didn't come back to this school because I thought I would make a good teacher. I was just trying to hide from my misery, to find some resemblance of happiness."

It took Albus a moment to respond because it was as if she had plucked the words right from his own tongue. "I believe that is what we are all looking for. Certainly, there is nothing wrong with it. But I'm sorry to hear that you have fared so badly outside of these castle walls."

She took a deep breath, looking for the strength to face whatever demons she had carried on her back. Demons that had finally forced her to her knees tonight. "It's funny, actually," she said in a voice that was utterly broken and completely devoid of any humour. "I know my magic comes from my mother, but for the longest time I felt so much closer to my father. But the week I graduated from Hogwarts, I finally acted like my mother's daughter by falling in love with a Muggle."

Whatever Albus had expected her to say, that wasn't it. "I don't see anything wrong with that either," he said gently. "And I'm sure neither do you."

"No, there's nothing wrong with it," Minerva agreed weakly. "And yet, there is everything wrong with it."

"I'm afraid I don't follow."

Minerva lifted her head to look at him, the green of her eyes brimming with tears like fresh morning dew on an empty meadow. "Do you ever feel like we're doomed to repeat our parents' mistakes or to go out of our way, torturing ourselves, in order not to?"

Once again, it was like looking into a mirror, but Albus forced the thought aside because it wasn't his pain that mattered right now. "Are you saying that it was a mistake for your mother to fall in love with your father?"

"To say that would mean to erase my brothers and me from existence," she said hoarsely. "But my parents' marriage was definitely not a normal one."

"What makes you say that?"

"Well, for one thing, she didn't tell him that she was a witch."

"Ah," made Albus. Finally he thought he was beginning to understand. A great many things, actually.

"My father is a Presbyterian minister in a small Scottish village. Would he have married a witch?" Minerva asked bitterly. "I don't know. I'm not sure I want to know. But he was never even given the choice. My mother married him, letting him believe the lies about boarding schools and estranged parents, and she had a baby with him. And then I made my toys fly across the room…"

Albus stayed quiet because she didn't need him to say anything right now, but he felt for Isobel and the situation she had found herself in. Unable to hide her true self from the man she loved any longer because of their unusually talented daughter.

"So she finally told him. Of course, there was no more choice for my father to make at that point. Being the honourable man that he is, he abhorred lies and secrecy, but he also believed in forgiveness and love. And yet, I think a part of him never forgot that he went to bed with his god-fearing, perfectly lovely and normal wife one night and woke up with a witch and a witch's daughter the next morning."

"A daughter he loved no less that day, quite possibly more," Albus said pointedly.

Minerva sniffed. "I know that. Still, it's like something straight out of a fairy tale where your real child gets swapped with a magical creature. And my mother, well, she had made her choice knowingly when she had married a Muggle reverend. But I don't think she knew then how hard it would be for her not to do magic. And because of her guilt for lying to her husband like that, I think she felt that she couldn't ask anything else of him – like to move someplace where she could have been a witch again."

In her very first week here at Hogwarts, Minerva had once told Albus a tiny part of all of this, a part that had caused him to suspect that her family's situation was complicated in some way. But he had never fully grasped how complicated until now.

"I knew I would make different choices than my mother," Minerva continued. "I knew I could never suppress my magic for long and I knew I would leave Caithness after one last summer at home. And then I forgot it all when I met him. Dougal," she breathed his name. It was barely more than a whisper. What it lacked in volume, it made up for with feeling. She could have just told Albus this whole story by simply saying the name.

He wouldn't have believed that a heart could be filled with so much conflicting emotions, if he hadn't known from personal experience that it could. It made him wish he could do more for her than just sit here and listen. Not for the first time, it made him feel woefully inadequate.

"And just like your mother, you didn't tell him who you really were," he surmised.

"Of course not. Can't work for the Ministry when you break the International Statute of Secrecy," she confirmed grimly.

"But you don't work there anymore," Albus reminded her. "I assure you Hogwarts won't fire you for telling him the truth. And as for the Ministry… I told you once that they would have to go through me to take you away. Well, that promise still stands." He gave her a wry little smile, but he was quite serious.

There was perhaps a soft answering glimmer in her eyes, but she said, "I don't think he would even talk to me now. He wanted to marry me and I stomped on his heart. It's like you said… some things cannot be forgiven."

"That doesn't mean you shouldn't try."

"This does." She reached into her pocket and held up the crumpled letter from this morning. "It's from my mother. She's always telling me about everything that's going on in the village, and my father… he officiated at a wedding this weekend. Dougal's wedding. To a farmer's daughter who didn't change her mind about marrying him," she managed to explain before her voice broke again.

"I'm sorry, Minerva," Albus said, even though he knew those words to be terribly empty. "But I do not believe you could have made your mother's choice and found happiness in it. We can only hide who we are for so long. In the end, truth will out. And yours, as much as it pains you right now, is a beautiful one."

"What exactly is it, though? My truth?" Minerva asked. "I thought I knew, but now it feels like I have two and they are impossible to reconcile with each other, but not enough to stand on their own either."

"Perhaps you just haven't found the right pieces yet," Albus suggested. "The ones that truly fit."

"You make it sound as though life were a jigsaw puzzle."

"I do happen to think that those are rather ingenious," Albus said, trying for a little lightness. "And maybe the Muggle who invented them also thought that although we all have a picture in our mind of how things should look like in the end, sometimes it takes time and patience to figure out the best way to get there."

Minerva was silent for a long moment, but then she managed a tiny nod. Of course, knowing the truth and accepting it in a way that allowed her to move on were two very different things.

"I don't know how these things always seem to make sense when you say them," she said wryly, "but… thank you for saying them," she added quietly. "And I'm the one who's sorry. I…"

"You have nothing to apologise for," Albus cut her off kindly. "What are shoulders for if not to cry on every now and then?"

"I didn't mean for you to see me in such a state. I'm not usually so weak."

Albus looked at her gravely, wishing she could see herself clearly for once. "Sharing your pain makes you the very opposite of weak." He almost laughed humourlessly when his own words caught up with him. "Which means that if anyone in this room is a fraud, it would be me."

Confused, Minerva met his gaze, her brow furrowed with questions she had asked him a million times over the years. Not once had he answered her truthfully.

"I believe I told you once that my father went to Azkaban. But I never told you why."

"He was convicted for an attack on Muggles."

Albus heaved a sigh. "Yes, but not because he harboured anti-Muggle sentiments. He was exacting his own revenge on them for what they had done to my sister."

Minerva's eyes widened imperceptibly. "I didn't know you have a sister."

"Had," Albus corrected her. After all these years, it shouldn't nearly rip him apart to say that one word, and yet it did.

"They killed her?" Minerva gasped, her hands covering her mouth in shock.

"No," Albus said slowly. "I did."

Minerva lowered her hands. Her eyes were alight with thoughts, but she didn't utter any of them. With her shoulder pressed firmly against his, she merely asked, "What happened?"

Sitting side by side like this was like the crutch he needed to lean on so he could say, "After those Muggle boys had attacked Ariana, she was never the same. Her magic was uncontrollable, violent. No one could know about her condition, or she would have been taken away from us and locked up. I'm sure you can guess why."

"Because she would have been an unacceptable risk to the International Statute of Secrecy." Minerva shuddered. Perhaps she was realising that in her previous position at the Ministry it would have been her duty to take away Ariana.

"Yes, so you see, despite all the good it has done, you and I have both paid a steep price for it," Albus replied. "Though in my case, it was really Ariana and my mother who were the most affected. After my father's sentence, we moved and my mother dedicated her life to caring for Ariana, keeping her inside the house most of the time and telling those who knew of her existence that she was of ill health. So I suppose, in a way, Ariana was locked up one way or another, but my mother gave her everything she could, and in the end, she also gave her life."

Minerva's eyes glittered with fresh tears, though they hadn't fallen yet, which funnily enough gave Albus the strength to continue with his terrible tale.

"It was the year I graduated from Hogwarts. As you know, I'd been meaning to go travelling, but when my mother died in one of Ariana's outbursts, that was out of the question, of course. Someone needed to continue what my mother had done so admirably for so long. My brother wanted to do it. He and Ariana had always been closer than I had to either one of them. After all, I had my books and my brilliant school career and the brightest of futures. But I was also the adult and Aberforth was not. So it had to be me, as much as I resented the idea of being a glorified babysitter. In my supreme arrogance, I was convinced that I was meant for greater things."

"That would have been a lot to ask of anyone. And you were only seventeen." Minerva tried to protect him in her wisdom that belied her age and unfortunately also negated her words.

"And yet I have since then known seventeen-year-olds who I am sure would have sacrificed everything without uttering a single complaint." Albus gave her a pointed look, but he didn't wait for her to respond. He needed to get the rest out, and then Minerva might no longer wish to protect him in any way.

"Well, I went home and I tried, but I did a dreadful job of it. My true attention wasn't with my poor sister, but with a boy my age who had moved in with his great-aunt practically next door. He matched my talents and my intellect and he was every bit as ambitious and passionate as I was. And, perhaps most importantly, he offered me a way out of my new prison by painting visions of grandeur and insanity that relit a fire inside of me. A fire that had gone out after my mother's death and my not very triumphant homecoming."

Minerva's brow creased as she listened to his description of a wizard who had been his equal in many ways. "Who was he? Why don't I know him?"

"You do know him, or know _of_ him at least. That boy's name was Gellert Grindelwald."

Albus felt Minerva's entire body go slack and he waited for her to pull away, but she didn't. "That's why you didn't want to face him," she muttered, seemingly more to herself than him.

He arched an eyebrow. "I see you have suspected this."

"No, not this." Minerva shook her head, dazed. "But I figured there had to be a different reason why you delayed your duel as long as you did. Something that wasn't in the papers. Because I knew it couldn't have been fear."

"Oh, it was fear," Albus told her. "Just not fear of losing. Not even of facing him again after all those years, though that was part of it. But my true fear had to do with how Gellert and I had parted ways."

"You found out who Grindelwald really was?" Minerva guessed.

Her words elated and shamed him at the same time. "As always you're showing me a kindness that I do not deserve. Yes, when I met him, Gellert was not yet the man he was about to become and I didn't see it coming, but not because the signs weren't already there. I simply turned a blind eye to some of his darkest thoughts and the rest I embraced wholeheartedly. And please don't insult me by using my age as an excuse. I was very much old enough to be able to tell right from wrong."

"Well, you did eventually."

"No, I did not." Albus sighed. "It was Aberforth who came home and rightfully berated me for my delusions and for having neglected Ariana. Gellert was there, too, and our fight turned into a duel between the three of us, at the end of which it was Ariana who lay dead at our feet. Gellert fled at once, and Aberforth and I were left to bury another member of our family in confusion and grief."

It was now that Minerva shifted next to him, but only to lightly brush a thumb across his wet cheek. His tears were so silent and familiar that Albus hadn't even noticed them in his agony.

"That… is horrible and heartbreaking, and I am so, so sorry, but it does not make it solely your fault," she said shakily. "It was Grindelwald who truly killed your sister."

"Except, there was no way of knowing whose curse had done it," Albus said, shaking his head. "At least, not for me."

"That's what you were afraid of," Minerva realised. "What Grindelwald would tell you when you faced him again."

"Yes, and he knew it, too. He didn't waste any time using Ariana against me when we finally met." Albus paused. "He told me that it was I who had cast the curse."

Minerva's breath hitched in her throat, which was the only sound in the room.

"However… being a shade more skilful in Legilimency than he was in Occlumency, I knew that he was lying," Albus told her the truth. The truth that allowed him to draw breath, even if each one still pained him. "Of course, it matters little in the end." Ariana was still dead by his hands, as surely as if he had been the one to cast the curse.

All the air seemed to rush from Minerva's lungs. "My God, Albus," she breathed, and her hand reached out for his, lacing their fingers together and giving them a tight squeeze. "It matters. It matters a great deal."

With a start, Albus realised that he had completely forgotten how it felt – the warmth of a human touch. He had come in here to offer comfort to her. Somehow, she had turned the tables on him. But Albus figured they could comfort each other and share in that burden – a sensation he had very nearly forgotten as well. There was no doubt on his mind that none of this would leave this room. But perhaps they would walk away a little lighter because they had found that while their sorrow was still theirs to live with, they were no longer alone in doing so.

Also, the fact that he had finally got her to say his name brought the tiniest of smiles back to Albus' lips. Surely, today was a day to revel even in small victories.

Finally, Minerva loosened her hold on his hand. "Have you never told anyone this?" she asked.

"No," he said simply. "And I realise now that perhaps I shouldn't have told you either because I clearly failed to make you feel any better."

"What about making you feel better?" Minerva countered. "This is a terrible secret to carry around on your own."

"I do have Aberforth," Albus argued.

"Who broke your nose." Apparently, she did not only remember him telling her about that, she had also shrewdly figured out when it must have happened.

"Yes, but I'm sure now you understand why."

"No, I don't," she said firmly. "Because it didn't do anyone any good. And it couldn't have hurt you more than you must have already been hurting."

Albus cocked his head. "Well, I suppose it made him feel better for a little while."

"Still, you deserve to talk to someone who's not going to judge you."

"Said the pot to the kettle," Albus retorted with a small smirk. After all, she had been the one to cry alone on the floor of this empty classroom.

She understood what he was saying, but in a return to her true form, she wouldn't simply accept that. "Falling out of love with someone is hardly the same as losing your family."

"But you haven't actually fallen out of love with him, have you?" Albus noted softly.

Minerva's face fell and when she couldn't deny it, she remained still.

"All I'm trying to say is that we all battle our demons the best way we know how," Albus continued gently. "And if Hogwarts helps you to do that, which as you can tell I fully understand, it will gladly do so. Though as your department head and, I hope, your friend it worries me that you clearly haven't found the happiness you came here to find."

"Not yet. Not today," she replied slowly, stuffing the letter from her mother back into her pocket. "But I think I still can. If you don't fire me, that is."

Albus stared at her, bemused. "Minerva, why in the name of all four Hogwarts founders would I fire you?"

"I lied," she said bluntly. "I lied about why I wanted this job, and the only thing you ever asked of me was not to lie to you."

"You may not have applied here because you thought that you'd make a good teacher," Albus corrected her. "But I told Armando to hire you because I knew that you would make a great one."

The look on Minerva's face was almost challenging. Accepting compliments with grace was really not her strong suit. "And do you still think so now?"

"More than ever," he assured her.

This she seemed to accept, but knowing that she could stay at Hogwarts didn't bring any joy to her tired demeanour. At least not tonight – as she had said so accurately. "Do you see her face sometimes?" she asked quietly after some time. "At night?"

"Constantly," Albus was forced to nod. "It's why I don't sleep much."

"Then maybe… we could just sit here for a little longer?" Minerva suggested.

There was nothing he would have liked to do more, but he said, "If you still want my company, then I will sit here with you for as long as you like."

"What do you mean if I still want your company?"

"I wouldn't hold it against you in the slightest if you were to see me differently now."

Minerva gave him a withering look, the likes of which he had never received from anyone but her, and perhaps her father. "You're holding yourself to a ridiculous standard, Albus. Befriending Grindelwald… perhaps you lost yourself there for a while. But you've made up for it in so many ways since then."

"I've tried," Albus conceded.

"You've done all that's humanly possible. No one could ask anything else of you. And I'm sure _she_ wouldn't."

It was certainly a nice thought. Albus was sure she would have liked to agree with Minerva. "Some might say that I'm hiding here at Hogwarts rather than to take on greater things."

Minerva snorted. "Well, if this is hiding, then I guess we're hiding together now."

Albus' lips curled up into a smile that was truer than the tears. "Sounds delightful." He straightened up a little. "Except, I'm still older than you, which means I will be hurting all over tomorrow if I stay on the floor like this. Please, if you don't mind terribly, let's at least take some of these many chairs," he said and stood.

Then he reached down to offer her his hand to help her to her feet as well.

And with a little but vital spark back in her eyes, Minerva took it.


	31. Shield

**A/N: After last week's huge and rather heavy chapter, this will be short and sweet. From now on, there'll probably be some romance in the air. Hope you enjoy. :)**

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**31\. Shield**

Minerva was crossing the Entrance Hall when Albus caught up with her. "Are you ready for your first Quidditch match?"

"This is hardly my first game."

"In a way it is," Albus insisted. "So my question still stands."

Minerva gave in. "Yes, I'm ready."

His eyes travelled over her in a way that made her feel strangely self-conscious. "You don't look it."

Finally, she understood that he was referring to her lack of Gryffindor colours. "I thought I wasn't supposed to take sides."

"Not during school hours, but this is Quidditch, everybody's favourite pastime, which means, everybody is allowed," Albus told her.

"Good to know. I'll remember that next time," Minerva replied, secretly relieved. Because she knew she would haven been rubbish at trying to cheer for the Slytherin team as much as for the Gryffindors.

"No need. This can be easily fixed." Albus took off his own Gryffindor scarf and held it up. "May I?"

Surprised, Minerva nodded and allowed him to wrap it around her neck. When he stepped back again, he smiled. "Much better."

"Cheers," she said as she rearranged the scarf a little. "But I didn't know you cared so much."

"I'm just trying to get into the spirit of things," Albus replied with a shrug and a smile that looked somewhat pained.

"I think you might have to work on that some more," Minerva informed him.

"Do I?" Albus retorted, his eyebrows raised, but his eyes became a little brighter, too. "We shall see."

They made their way to the Quidditch pitch, and at first, Minerva had no idea why Albus looked as though he would prefer to be back in the castle behind his desk, grading papers. The energy in the stadium was invigorating. She hadn't watched a game from the stands in years. It meant that she could actually take in all the banners and creative items of clothing the students had brought in support of their teams. And she could hear them chant and feel the general excitement of the crowd. As part of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, she had always been too focused at this point.

The game started with the blow of Rolanda Hooch's whistle. It took all of two minutes for Gryffindor to score their first goal and for Slytherin to commit their first foul. It was nothing Minerva hadn't expected. Nothing she hadn't experienced personally. She watched without making too much of a face, but those were only the first couple of minutes. Her composure began to slip when things got more intense.

Soon, she found herself muttering under her breath, urging on the Gryffindor Chasers, suggesting the best routes to take or diversions to fake. She ducked when they almost got hit by Bludgers and she nearly shot out of her seat when they scored a particularly impressive goal.

That's when she noticed that Albus' eyes were on her. "Are you even trying to watch the game?" she challenged him.

"I'm watching something a lot more entertaining," he replied.

Minerva shook her head. She didn't have time for his antics because she was actually interested in the game. And he had already distracted her a second too long because when Minerva turned back towards the field, the Gryffindor Seeker took a Bludger right to the face. The whole stadium could practically hear his nose break and he swayed precariously on his broom.

Gasping, Minerva reached for her wand with one hand and for support with the other. But the Gryffindor Beaters had already intervened and steadied their dazed teammate so he wouldn't fall off his broom. Rolanda flew over to them to fix the boy's nose.

"Do you think he's okay?" Minerva wondered aloud.

"Oh yes, anything that can be fixed up in the air doesn't even count as a real injury, or so I've been told," Albus replied.

Well, yes, Minerva thought, but only because as a player one never wanted to quit playing. That much she knew from personal experience. She just hadn't known how gruesome it looked with the blood spatter on those fresh Quidditch robes.

Nevertheless, the game resumed, and Minerva noticed that it was Albus' hand she had grabbed in her moment of concern for her student. "I'm sorry," she muttered when she let go again.

He just smiled at her. "So, it is a little different to watch a game rather than to play in it, isn't it?"

"Will you stop turning everything into a lesson?" she said in exasperation. "You were right, I was wrong. I hardly think that's worth pointing out anymore."

Albus' brow furrowed. "No, certainly not, as that was not my intention. I was just hoping that we could share in the agony of watching students we care about risk their necks for fun. As they like to say, misery loves company."

Minerva considered that for a minute. "I still love Quidditch," she clarified. "But… I understand what you're saying."

This was a lot more upsetting than she ever could have imagined.

"Wait, so you didn't actually like me playing back then?" she asked after a moment of watching the game in silence.

"I liked watching you win. But accompanying students of mine to the hospital wing is not a part of being a teacher I particularly enjoy," Albus said. "Especially not when I promised their parents not to let them get hurt."

"Right," Minerva snorted. "I forgot about that."

"I haven't."

She shot him a wary look when she noticed his use of the present tense. "Well, you're off the hook now."

Albus' lips twitched. "Am I?"

Minerva wasn't even sure if her father still remembered that conversation. Either way, she said, "I don't need protection anymore."

"We can all use some protecting every now and then," Albus said gently.

"Then who's protecting you?" she asked, facing him squarely.

He opened his mouth and closed it again. "I don't believe anyone's ever asked me that."

There was an immediate response on the tip of her tongue, but before Minerva could decide whether or not to actually say it, she saw something in the corner of her eye that made her jump to her feet.

Turning towards the Quidditch field, she yelled, "That was a foul! Rolanda, didn't you see that? Will you call a penalty already?"

Rolanda ignored her (she probably hadn't even heard her) and let the game continue.

Albus chortled.

"Don't you say anything!" Minerva hissed when she sat back down.

Albus rested his chin on the tips of his intertwined fingers, his lips in a thin, smirking line.

At least, now he looked like he was having fun.

Minerva sighed and settled in to watch the rest of the game with as much dignity as she could muster.

* * *

When Minerva knocked on the door of Albus' study and heard his soft 'Enter' in response, she flashed back to the many, many times they had gone through this ritual during her time as a student. It was funny how things didn't seem to have changed at all, but in fact they were beginning to feel very different.

The scattered papers and pieces of parchment on Albus' desk were exactly the same, however. "Sorry to interrupt," Minerva said as she approached. "I just wanted to hand in my lesson plans for next week."

Albus gave her a smile that was just a little exasperated. "I told you, you really don't have to hand those in anymore."

"I know. I just had them ready so..." Minerva's voice trailed off.

The truth was that coming to Albus' study was the best excuse she had been able to think of in order to get out of her own office. There was no school on weekends and with all her upcoming lessons planned and ready, she had run out of ideas what to do with her free time. But she was not going to say that.

She didn't need to, though. Albus' smile shifted, becoming more curious. "So you thought you would make me feel bad for not being as organised as you are." He chuckled and shook his head to indicate that she didn't actually need to answer that. "So, any plans for the rest of the day?"

"Not exactly," she said vaguely. She could write a couple of letters to her parents and to Elphinstone, but that hardly qualified as 'plans'.

"I was thinking about paying a quick visit to Diagon Alley," he said. "Care to join me?"

"I didn't have you pegged as an avid shopper," Minerva replied hesitantly, not sure if this was a pity invite and if she was bored enough to accept either way.

"I'm not. But I do like to get my Christmas shopping done early."

His smile was open and truthful, and Minerva figured she had nothing to lose. He already knew the very worst there was to know about her. She had no more secrets left. He knew she was lonely. And she didn't feel bad about that because she now knew that he was lonely, too, and more importantly, she knew why.

"I'm terrible at buying gifts, but I'll come," she agreed.

"Oh, I don't know. Fawkes has always enjoyed the sweets you gave him," Albus said as he rose from his chair.

"Then I guess that's one less gift to worry about." In fact, Minerva had avoided thinking about Christmas altogether, but if Albus wanted to look for presents, she could just as well get it over with, too. And perhaps she could stop him from getting anything for her.

They left the castle grounds and Disapparated to London. Diagon Alley was fairly busy as usual, especially this time of year, but most people made room for Albus when they recognised him. It was a little disconcerting at first to attract attention like this, but it was nice that people didn't step on their feet. Most of them, anyway. There were two sides to the coin of Albus' fame. Half of the witches and wizards in Diagon Alley gave him a wide berth, while the other half swarmed him.

It made the actual shopping somewhat difficult. They still hadn't bought anything an hour later. After listening for twenty minutes to a wizard who wanted to introduce a law that would force wizards to stop wearing robes in solidarity with Muggles, Minerva lost her patience.

"First of all, that is not a matter for the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot," she informed that wizard. "Secondly, even if it were, no one would ever accept a law like that and it would be impossibly to enforce. And thirdly, if you want to improve wizard–Muggle relations, start with something more relevant than fashion!"

Having said that, Minerva pushed Albus into Flourish and Blotts and closed the door between them and that wizard.

Albus blinked. "Thank you."

"You could have just said that you needed me to come with you so you'd have a human shield," Minerva replied drily.

"It was never my intention to employ you or anyone else in such a manner," Albus said gravely. "But that being said… it is an added bonus to your company."

"You're welcome," Minerva said with a wry grin. "Now go find what you want to buy before someone else asks you to legalise keeping dragons as pets."

Albus laughed, but he said, "Oh, I don't give away books as presents."

Minerva gaped at him. "Why not? What makes for a better present than books?"

"Nothing. Unless it's the only thing people ever give you. Birthdays, Christmasses, doesn't matter, it's always books," Albus explained. "So I've stopped giving them away in return to discourage people from getting me any more."

"And is it working?"

"Not in the least."

Minerva snorted. "Well, then I'm going to buy something – for me, not for you – while you figure out where else you want to go."

"Of course, please take your time," Albus agreed, and in the end, he did buy a book, too. When Minerva just gave him a look, he said that it was for Madam Reed.

"Because there's nothing a librarian needs more badly than more books?" she quipped.

Albus sighed. "I realise that. But quite honestly, I wouldn't know what else to give her. Would you?"

"No, but then again, I don't even know her first name," Minerva replied.

"It's Jemma," Albus told her. "Or… was it Emma? Oh dear, that's going to haunt me."

Laughing, they left the bookstore and continued to buy delicacies (exotic mead for Horace, fine chocolates for Cyrille) and clothes (fireproof gloves for Silvanus, a fancy hat for Dippet) and similar items. Apparently, there would be a Christmas party for the Hogwarts staff Minerva hadn't previously known about. So she purchased a couple of things of her own until her feet hurt and she was ready to call it a day.

"I wonder," Albus said slowly, "if I might ask you for a favour, Minerva."

Surprised by his tone, she looked up from her bags. "Of course."

"I would do it myself, but as you have noticed, I tend to attract unwanted attention."

"What? Do you need me to buy something embarrassing for you?" she teased, though she was well aware that Albus wasn't laughing this time.

"No, merely to go inside a particular store and ask a question."

"Which store?"

"It's not actually in this alley," he said, and Minerva began to understand. He didn't want everyone to read in tomorrow's newspaper that Albus Dumbledore had been seen strolling down Knockturn Alley.

Which did not explain why he would want to go there in the first place or rather why he wanted her to do it for him. "So you did bring me along to be your shield after all."

It was merely another joke, but Minerva could tell right away that Albus did not find this even remotely funny. "You're right. I apologise. Let us leave."

"Albus, stop," she said, grabbing his arm to hold him back. "I was just kidding."

"I am not," he replied.

"Fine, then let's say you didn't ask me. I volunteered. So where am I going and what am I asking?" Minerva gave him a prompting look, still holding on to his arm.

Eventually, Albus sighed and gave her further instructions. Minerva decided not to ask any questions, lest he would change his mind again. She handed him her bags and then made her way into Knockturn Alley. No one took much notice of her, now that she was alone and no longer in the company of Albus Dumbledore.

Thankfully, she spotted the sign of the dimly lit antique shop called Borgin and Burkes fairly quickly, because even though no one cared about her presence, Minerva didn't like being down here. It was dark, filthy and she had the strong urge to arrest every witch and wizard she met.

The inside of Borgin and Burkes was only marginally better. But Minerva only needed to pretend to have a look around for about a minute before one of the owners approached her. "Can I be of assistance, Ma'am?"

Minerva disliked him on the spot, though that might have been because of the fake politeness in his voice when he called her 'Ma'am'. "I'm interested in a certain object I discussed with your assistant. I was hoping to speak to him."

"Aye, you and me both," Burke (or possibly Borgin) muttered.

"Excuse me?" Minerva asked.

"He doesn't work here anymore," Burke or Borgin replied.

"Just like that?"

"Yes, just like that!" he snapped. "Were you hoping for a forwarding address? Well, I ain't got one for you. Didn't even give me notice…" He paused in his rant and eyed her sceptically. "Did you actually want to buy anything or were you just interested in him?"

Minerva decided that it was just as well to let Burke/Borgin think that she was sweet on his former assistant. "No, I don't think I will buy anything from you today," she said and left.

Back in Diagon Alley, Albus was waiting for her with an ice cream sundae from Florean Fortescue, which was exactly the kind of sweet and cheerful distraction she needed after a trip to Knockturn Alley.

"It's as you suspected," Minerva said while she accepted the ice cream from him. "The assistant quit. Or disappeared is more like it. The owner had no idea."

Albus nodded. "Thank you for acquiring that information for me."

"So who is he?" Minerva asked simply. She didn't think what she had just done was a big deal. Though it was definitely strange.

"A former student of mine," Albus replied.

"And why are you keeping tabs on him?"

"Because," Albus said, "I have reason to suspect that he is on a very dark path."

Minerva narrowed her eyes in response to those ominous words. "A path to where exactly?"

Albus heaved a deep sigh. "That seems to be the question."

She didn't know what else to say, but the ice cream suddenly felt a lot colder on the tip of her tongue.


	32. Shine a Light

**A/N: It's mid-July, so perfect time for another Christmas chapter, don't you think? :D It's raining here anyway, so enjoy, and thank you all for your amazing reviews!**

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**32\. Shine a Light**

"Okay, everyone, you know the drill. The Christmas holidays are almost upon us and as always we need to decide who's going to stay in the castle with the remaining students."

The staff room was packed with every member of the Hogwarts staff, but somehow they all managed to avoid Headmaster Dippet's questioning gaze.

Minerva being the only exception. "I'll be staying," she said right away.

"Excellent!" Dippet said, looking at her appreciatively. His approval had nothing to do with Minerva's decision, though. She had known that she was going to stay even before she had realised that this was a hotly debated issue among her colleagues. Most of them wanted to leave and celebrate Christmas with loved ones.

"And Albus is staying, of course, so with one male and one female teacher, we could make do, though I think it would only be fair not to put this solely on the Transfiguration Department every year…" the headmaster continued and coaxed one or two more volunteers to come forward.

At the end of the meeting, Albus leaned in a little closer to Minerva to say, "You don't have to feel obligated to stay for Christmas simply because you're our newest member of staff."

"I don't," she assured him. "I want to stay."

"Wouldn't your family like to see you?" As his Head of House, Albus knew that Malcolm was going home for the holidays. And Minerva had mentioned to him that Junior was also returning from his travels. Naturally, her parents had asked for her to come as well.

"Of course, but I… I can't go home," she said quietly, leaving the most important part unsaid. She couldn't go home and risk seeing Dougal and his new wife, who were sure to come to the Christmas service. It was silly and cowardly, but she just… couldn't.

Albus' curious gaze softened when he understood what she was saying, or not saying. "In that case, I'll alert the kitchens to plan for extra servings of pudding."

Minerva laughed. "You know you're enabling me."

"As long as it's your pudding-induced happiness I'm enabling, I'm perfectly fine with that," Albus said and squeezed her shoulder as he got up to leave.

The last two weeks before Christmas passed quickly and soon it was time for the students to get back aboard the Hogwarts Express.

"Can I wish you a Merry Christmas or is it too embarrassing if you're seen hugging a teacher?" Minerva asked her brother while he was waiting in the Entrance Hall for one of the school carriages.

"That's okay," Malcolm told her. "Most of the other students seem to think that you're not completely terrible."

"Ah," made Minerva. "How charming."

"That's actually a compliment," Pomona Sprout informed her. She and Malcolm had become fast friends, being in the same year, which Minerva approved of wholeheartedly. "I'd love to have you. It's so annoying that I can't." She gave Malcolm the side-eye. The Hufflepuff and Gryffindor fifth-years shared a Transfiguration class, so Minerva wasn't teaching Pomona any more than her brother.

He rolled his eyes at her. "It's not my fault that she's my sister. Nothing I can do about that."

"Well, you could fail your Transfiguration O.W.L.s so that next year you're not in my class anymore," Pomona suggested.

"Definitely not!" Minerva interjected. "McGonagalls don't fail Transfiguration." It was too embarrassing to even think about. The other teachers would never let her live that down.

"I know, I know. Which is why I was planning to pick your brain during the holidays, but since you're not coming…" Malcolm's voice trailed off, his accusation clear.

Minerva sighed. "I'm sorry. Somebody has to stay in the castle for Christmas, you know that," she gave him the same excuse she had used on her parents. Thankfully, it was also the truth, a part of it, anyway.

"Yeah… but won't you be lonely?" Malcolm asked. He had always been more sweet-natured than Junior, and worrying about her like this was a prime example.

"I'll be fine," Minerva promised him with a smile.

"You can go check on Peppers for me," Pomona offered. "He's a great listener."

"Peppers?" Minerva's brow furrowed until she remembered. "Oh, your Devil's Snare. Sure… I'll do that." But she really hoped it wouldn't come to that.

"Train leaves in fifteen!" Pringle yelled. "Get off your little behinds and get moving!"

Annoyed, Minerva turned her head towards the caretaker. "Don't get your knickers in a twist, Apollyon. They are coming."

He glared at her, hating that she was now a teacher and that both the headmaster and the deputy headmaster held her in higher regard than him. They had agreed on an unspoken truce, but it was rather fragile.

Malcolm grinned at her. "That was brilliant!"

"No, it wasn't," Minerva said quickly. She didn't want to set the wrong kind of example for him. "It was disrespectful."

"But he had it coming," Pomona pointed out.

Minerva's lips twitched. "I know. Now have a good Christmas, you two."

She hugged them both and saw them off.

Peace and quiet settled over the castle and Minerva's thoughts turned inwards. But this time, she had come prepared. At least for the beginning of the holidays, she had a whole bunch of essays left to grade.

So it was behind her desk in her office where Albus found her. He was wearing a travelling cloak.

"Where are you going?" Minerva asked, surprised.

"Emergency session of the Wizengamot. I have to leave for London right away, I'm afraid," Albus told her.

"On Christmas Eve?"

"What can I say? Duty calls." He didn't look terribly upset. This was probably his version of having essays to grade to keep busy. "I trust you'll be okay here?"

Minerva nodded. "Don't worry about Hogwarts. Go make the world a better place."

Albus arched an eyebrow. "Oh my, that is a tall order."

"You're a tall man," Minerva said simply.

"Standing on very broad shoulders," he replied.

She gave him a smile and returned to her essays, but Albus paused with his hand on her office door. "I almost forgot. Could I trouble you to look in on Fawkes tonight to make sure he's eaten? He's usually very self-sufficient, but the poor chap isn't feeling very well right now."

"Oh no, I'm sorry to hear that," Minerva said, concern for the magnificent phoenix muting her voice. "Of course, I'll check on him. Whatever you need."

"Thank you," Albus said sincerely. "I'll see you… well, I don't actually know when I'll be back, but soon, I hope."

"I'll save you some pudding."

Albus laughed and closed her office door behind him.

Minerva busied herself with her essays, then spent a very quiet Christmas dinner in the Great Hall with Rolanda Hooch and Gareth Hawkyard as her only other colleagues at the High Table. They argued about the pros and cons of each of their favourite Quidditch teams for most of the time. Of course, Minerva felt like she won that argument easily since the Montrose Magpies were the most successful team in League history.

After dinner, she made her way to Albus' office. He had left the door unlocked, but once Minerva stood in front of the entrance to his private rooms, she realised that he had not given her his password.

"Um… phoenix? Fawkes? Animagus? Gryffindor? Toffee eclairs? Christmas Pudding? Oh, come on!" Minerva huffed. At this rate, she would never get to Fawkes. It could literally be anything. Something silly like his favourite flavour of Bertie Bott's Beans or something entirely random like Polyjuice Potion. Minerva had no idea how serious Albus was about his passwords, particularly this one that unlocked his inner sanctum.

A chilling thought rose up unbidden within her. "Ariana," she whispered.

The door opened with a sharp click that made her wince.

"Oh, Albus," she sighed.

Leave it to him to find a way to torture himself at least once a day.

Shaking her head, Minerva entered and stopped dead the next second. She wasn't surprised that Albus' rooms were larger than hers and that he had an actual sitting room back here. There was a sofa and a dining table, though both were littered with documents of some kind, but what made Minerva's mouth fall open was the fact that the rest of the room and every inch of the walls, all the way up to the ceiling, was covered in books. So many books.

It was beyond impressive. Also, a little messy. Somebody really needed to clean up in here. Or at least do some dusting. Of course, that could take a while.

A gagging noise to her left broke the spell Minerva had momentarily fallen under and she turned her attention away from the books.

"Oh God, Fawkes!" she breathed, her mouth opening further in shock.

She hadn't seen the phoenix in years, but she remembered him as if it was yesterday – that beautiful crimson and gold plumage, those beady, black eyes and the soft but highly intelligent look in them. He was the most glorious creature Minerva had ever seen.

At least, he had been. Because the bird she found sitting on a golden perch in the corner looked like a half-plucked turkey. Most of his feathers had fallen out and the look in his doleful eyes was pure misery.

"Oh, you poor thing," Minerva cooed, crouching in front of the phoenix, who was clearly dying.

Despite his agony, he seemed to recognise her because the sound he made now was a little less of a gag and more of a chirp. Still a far cry from the powerful melody Minerva knew him to be capable of, and it made her incredibly sad.

She tried her best to pull herself together. "You have to eat something. It'll make you feel better." The food Albus had laid out for him was still untouched, so Minerva scooped some of it into her hand and held it up to Fawkes' beak.

He just looked at her as if to say that she was wasting her time.

"Okay, here's the deal. I don't have any other plans tonight, so you and I are going to stay right here until you eat something," she told him.

Fawkes stared blankly at her and Minerva stared back determinedly.

"Also, I'm warning you. I'm a cat, which means I always win in a staring contest."

The phoenix blinked and finally allowed her to feed him.

Minerva felt victorious for as long as it took for Fawkes to start gagging and to spit it all out again. Worried, Minerva straightened up. She had no idea what to do now. Force-feeding him was clearly not the answer. Really, why hadn't Albus left her with more instructions? She doubted that Rolanda or Gareth had any more experience with phoenixes. Silvanus, of course, was never in the castle when she needed him to be.

Before Minerva could decide what to do, she caught a whiff of smoke. Fawkes let out another pitiful shriek, almost like a goodbye, and then he burst into flames. Minerva yelped, but she didn't move, mesmerized by the terrible beauty of what was happening in front of her eyes.

The once so majestic bird became truly radiant, burning so bright Minerva almost couldn't bear to watch, and then there was nothing left but ashes. With her heart hammering in her chest, Minerva crouched down again, staring at the pile of ashes. Even though she knew this was how it was supposed to be, her eyes were brimming with tears. Were phoenixes truly immortal? Couldn't they eventually get tired of starting over and over again? Fawkes had looked very, very tired. What if he was just gone?

"Please, you have to come back," she whispered. "You're not done yet. He still needs you."

The pile of ashes began to quiver and a tiny, wrinkled newborn bird poked its head out.

"Hello there," Minerva smiled through her tears. "Feel better now?"

Baby Fawkes croaked, which sounded like 'yes', but then he began to tremble. Truth be told, he looked quite as miserable as before. He barely had any feathers yet. Albus had kept a fire going in the fireplace, but in winter the castle was always a little draughty regardless. Poor Fawkes was probably freezing.

That was something Minerva knew how to remedy at least. She gently took baby Fawkes into the palm of her right hand and then had a look around the room, uncertain. There was no room for her to sit without moving stuff. The sofa was laden with stacks of books, so were the chairs, and the table was covered in articles about the recent death of Hepzibah Smith. Clearly, Albus hadn't expected guests.

Well, she wasn't a guest. Not technically. With a huff, Minerva pushed open the door to the bedroom and crawled on top of the bed. Holding Fawkes close to her chest, she conjured a blanket to cover them both. Eventually, the baby phoenix stopped quivering and he seemed to grow warmer in her hand. Before long, he was fast asleep. Dying and being reborn had to be exhausting. Since she knew that Fawkes would be okay now, Minerva relaxed. And the growing warmth and darkness in the room lulled her to sleep as well.

Or so she gathered when she woke up again to look right into Albus' face. He was perched on the edge of the bed next to her, still wearing this travelling cloak. The room was dark so it had to be the middle of the night.

"I didn't mean to wake you," he said softly. "But Fawkes, he can get used to these sleeping arrangements, so I was going to take him back to his perch."

"Oh," breathed Minerva, finally startling properly awake and sitting up. She was glad that it was too dark in the room for Albus to see the blush to her cheeks. When she had come to feed his bird tonight, she hadn't exactly planned on ending up in his bed. "I'm so sorry, it's just… he burned right in front of me, Albus!"

"I know. I didn't meant to leave you with him on a Burning Day. But it's hard to predict them."

Minerva looked at the tiny bird she was still holding to her chest. He snored peacefully. "It's fine. But… don't you ever worry that one day he won't be reborn, that he simply won't come back?"

"Oh no, I will leave him a long time before he will leave this world, of that much I am certain," Albus replied.

That thought seemed to be a lot more comforting to him than it was for Minerva. "He looked cold afterwards, so I was just trying to keep him warm…" She faltered when she saw the amusement on Albus' face. "What?"

"Nothing. That was very sweet of you. But Fawkes is a phoenix."

"I know that!" Minerva snapped.

"Of course, but you see, he is made of fire, which means he virtually cannot get cold," Albus explained patiently.

That brought Minerva up short. "Oh."

Albus just smiled at her. "But he does like to cuddle when he's this age. And really, who could fault him?"

The heat rushing to her face intensified and Minerva quickly handed the baby phoenix over to Albus and slid off the bed. "I wouldn't have taken him to bed with me if there had been anywhere else to sit," she defended herself when they both walked back into the sitting room.

"I apologise. I didn't expect company when I was forced to leave so quickly earlier today." Albus gently set Fawkes down on his perch.

"How did the session go?" Minerva asked to change the subject.

"Productive, I think," Albus replied. "How were things here?"

"Calm," she said. "Gareth mentioned at dinner that you have volunteered for Christmas duty every year since he started working at Hogwarts."

Albus shrugged. "I don't have any family to visit, so it only seems logical."

"Well, neither have I right now, so I hope you'll be expecting my company tomorrow then," Minerva said.

Surprised, Albus looked up from his sleeping phoenix. Clearly, he had not expected her to say that.

"For our annual Christmas chess game," Minerva clarified.

The confusion on Albus' face cleared and was replaced with a smile. "Of course. I'm looking forward to it already."

"Good, because you owe me."

"Oh, Fawkes and I will forever be grateful to you for taking such good care of him," he assured her.

"Not because of that," Minerva said, shaking her head. "That was… of course I took care of him. I meant because you've been holding out on me. You never told me you had a private library."

Albus chuckled. "I believe I did tell you that I had a thing with books… But either way, you're welcome to it any time."

Minerva's eyes travelled over the rows and rows of books. "Oh, you'll regret saying that."

"No, I really don't think I will," Albus said quietly.

That didn't require a response, so Minerva headed for the door, but stopped. "Oh, and Albus?"

"Yes?"

"You should change your password."

There was a long pause. "Why would I do that when I just told you that you're welcome to come in here and borrow a book whenever you want?" he asked eventually.

"Because there is a difference between honouring her memory and holding on to a ghost," Minerva said gently.

Now she cursed the darkness in the room because it made it impossible to read the look on Albus' face. His voice sounded weary, but then, it was very late. "You're right, of course, so if you ever find out how to let go, do let me know."

Minerva cringed. He had her there. After all, she was the one hiding here at Hogwarts from her own ghost. "That might take a while."

"I'm not going anywhere," he said simply. "Good night, Minerva."

"Good night, Albus, and… Merry Christmas."

"Ah yes, I suppose it's Christmas morning already. Hold on then." He rummaged in a drawer and handed her a present.

She opened her mouth to protest, but he held up a hand. "It's not much."

With a sigh, Minerva unwrapped it. "A candle?"

"I may have put a little spell on it," Albus admitted. "Just light it and think of home."

Minerva decided not to question those instructions. She silently made her way back to her rooms and crawled into her own bed. After a minute or two, she got back up, grabbed the candle she had left on her desk and put it on her bedside table to light it.

When she closed her eyes again, she could suddenly smell the incense at her father's Christmas service, the mouth-watering flavour of her mother's famous Christmas cookies baking in the oven, and the heavy fragrance of the freshly cut fir tree they would have spent hours arguing about before picking it. There were the candy canes Junior and Malcolm always stole from that tree to eat before dinner and the only just laundered matching dressing gowns they still had to wear as a family…

Smiling from ear to ear, Minerva drifted off to sleep, not noticing that there was another scent underneath it all. Something like lemon grass, summer rain and phoenix feather.


	33. Blaze of Glory

**33\. Blaze of Glory**

Time was a funny thing. In many ways, it seemed that no time had passed at all since Minerva had returned to Hogwarts to teach, when in fact it had been two years now. But at the same time, it felt as though she had been a part of the teaching staff for as long as Albus himself had been. It was such a remarkable fit that it was truly laughable that no one had suggested she should be a teacher from the very beginning.

Every now and then, Albus wondered if she would be happier now if he had stopped her from taking that detour via the Ministry first. He'd had plenty of influence on her when she was younger, even though he had tried not to use it too much. She had even asked him for his opinion on the Ministry several times. He could have told her the truth. His truth, anyway.

But he had wanted her to learn from her own experiences. So she had. And now she had a broken heart. Then again, it might be sheer arrogance to add that to his long list of faults. He was probably just too used to the feeling of guilt on his shoulders. It had become a comfortable companion. Or if not comfortable, then at least familiar.

Anyway, it was a relief that Minerva was a bloody brilliant teacher. She was strict, of course, very much so. Sometimes even a little too much when it came to taking points from Gryffindor. Then again, that was only the competitive Head of House in him talking. Because while she was strict, she was always fair. It made it difficult for the students or anyone to hate her for it.

Also, there was no denying her competence and capability. Her knowledge of Transfiguration, already vast when Armando had hired her, had only grown since then, as Minerva had taken to reading every book in Albus' private library. It certainly rivalled or even surpassed his own. And of course, he could not demonstrate an Animagus transformation in the classroom. That was actually a little annoying. Students never used to ask Albus about that before Minerva had come along.

But that little bruise to his ego aside, Albus was very happy to let her take over more and more of his classes. He had already decided that he would give her his N.E.W.T. class next year as well. Since her brother Malcolm was graduating today, there was no more reason not to. And Minerva would handle the workload a lot better than he did anyway.

"Are you ready to once again be the only McGonagall in Hogwarts Castle?" Albus asked her when they met on their way to the Great Hall for the graduation ceremony.

Minerva frowned. "I'm certainly glad that Malcolm has done so well on his N.E.W.T.s," she hedged.

"Has he decided what to do with them?"

"Yes, he and Pomona are both off to St. Mungo's."

Albus nodded. "Excellent. Will she be taking Peppers with her?" he asked with a chuckle.

"I'm not sure that's possible since he is the size of a baby giant by now…"

Their laughter quieted down when they entered the Great Hall. For some reason, Silvanus had volunteered to be in charge of the decorations this year, and so tiny glasses filled with glowing Flobberworms floated all over the hall. Albus assumed they were supposed to look like stars, but to him they just looked like insects trapped behind glass. Then again, what did he know about decorations?

"Minerva!" Isobel McGonagall waved to her daughter from the other end of the hall, and Albus quietly slipped away to leave her to her family reunion.

He talked to Armando until it was time to get this year's graduates. When the families and friends had settled down, he opened the doors and the ceremony began. Every year, it was a day of both pride and nostalgia. Another group of young minds was ready to leave this castle and to shape the community that was waiting for them out there in one way or another. As always, Albus hoped it would be for the better.

After the ceremony, he shook hands and exchanged good wishes with the students he had taught. He had just sat down to rest his feet when Minerva and Malcolm joined him.

"Thanks for teaching me all these years, Professor," the latter said.

"My pleasure," Albus replied with a smile.

"And could you give this to Fawkes? You know, for saving my life in my first year here?"

Albus looked from the box with snacks to Minerva. "You and your family are spoiling that bird rotten."

Minerva shrugged. "He deserves it."

"I always thought you liked him better than me," Albus quipped.

"Well, he is devastatingly handsome," she replied, laughing.

The spark in her eyes almost distracted Albus from a real spark he thought he had just seen behind her. "Do you smell… fire?" he asked.

Before Minerva could answer, one of the glasses above their heads exploded and the Flobberworm inside – clearly no Flobberworm at all – burst into flames.

Albus and Minerva leapt to their feet as the Great Hall erupted in screams and chaos. Albus pointed his wand at the ball of fire, engulfing it in a column of water, but to his left and right more worms exploded, sending fiery sparks everywhere. One of the tables rose into the air and arched over his head protectively. Other tables and chairs followed, coming to life to serve both as barriers and ushers to guide the students and their families out of the burning hall, directed by a quick wave of Minerva's wand.

"Out! Get everybody out!" Armando roared at the other teachers and everyone surged towards the exits.

Albus stood his ground, allowing his column of water to expand and push back against the wall of flames. But there had been dozens of those worm-filled glasses all over the hall and like a chain reaction they kept bursting, igniting new fires all over.

He took a step back, brushing against Minerva, who hadn't moved either, other than to direct her army of chairs and tables. This was clearly becoming her signature spell. She pressed into him and standing back to back, they weaved their magic to contain the flames. The fire burned faster and hotter, however, than normal flames would have. Thankfully, the castle was almost empty today. Still, the fire could not be allowed to spread.

Out of the corner of his eye, Albus registered that everyone had managed to flee the hall, their colleagues bringing up the rear. "Minerva, when I tell you to, duck!" he said urgently and he could feel her nod rather than hear her assent.

He waved his wand, closing all doors to the hall, before he collected his focus. "Now!" he yelled.

Minerva dropped to the ground and Albus followed her example, wrapping himself around her to make sure they were both enclosed by his protection spell. Around them, his columns of water merged and grew into a tidal wave that swept across the hall. It shattered the remaining glasses, drowned the fiery little creatures, extinguished their fire and destroyed everything else in its wake. Chairs and tables broke into smithereens and Albus grabbed Minerva more tightly, though he knew that his shield would hold.

Slowly, the churning of the water eased and eventually stopped. Cautiously, Albus allowed his spell to fade and the water began to evaporate. Once it was gone, he straightened up again.

"Are you all right?" he asked, helping Minerva to get back up as well. Her hair had come loose, so she looked a little wild and slightly singed around the edges, but otherwise completely unshaken.

She nodded, her eyes widening as she surveyed the destruction around them. But the walls of the Great Hall were strong and stood virtually untouched. The rest could be repaired.

"What was that?" she asked breathlessly.

"Not Flobberworms, that much is for certain," said Albus as he turned over the remnants of one of the creatures with the tip of his shoe.

"I meant your spell."

"A modified Inferno Spell," Albus replied. "I thought it best to make sure that there was no chance of the fire spreading to the rest of the castle."

Minerva shook her head. "Those are impossible to control."

Albus gave her a small smile. "Impossible is a relative term."

"No, it really isn't." Her eyes went to the wand in his hand. "I always meant to ask you this. Where did you get your wand? It's not from Ollivanders, is it?"

"No," Albus said simply. Once again, she was too smart for her own good. Or his – as he didn't wish to lie to her. But as always, his feelings were of little consequence compared to her safety. Even though she had just demonstrated her resilience.

"Then where did you buy it?" Minerva pressed, causing Albus to suppress a sigh.

"I didn't buy it. This… belonged to Gellert Grindelwald."

"You took his wand?" Minerva breathed, astonished. "Why?"

Albus slipped the Elder Wand back into his pocket and out of her sight. "Because somebody had to."

She probably wouldn't have left it at that, but there was a banging on the doors to the hall that distracted her. Since Albus had just put away his wand, Minerva opened the doors with hers.

Armando and some of the other teachers hurried towards them. "You two okay?"

"We're fine. What about the students and their families?"

"A couple of burns here and there. They are already being treated in the hospital wing," Cyrille replied. "But no major injuries."

"Thanks to the two of you," Armando added, looking livid. "What the bloody hell happened? Silvanus! Where are you? Get in here and explain this to me!"

Silvanus stepped out from behind Horace's impressive figure. "They must have been Ashwinders, not Flobberworms. Very easily confused the two. Except the worms are harmless while the Ashwinders, well, they can burn down buildings in minutes. I had my third-years collect them you see…"

"But you are the Care of Magical Creatures teacher! You should bloody well know better!" Armando yelled.

"Well, yes, I probably should have double-checked their work, but really, how else will they learn?"

"How about by not burning to death?" Armando bellowed. "I've had enough of this! I'll have to sack you this time!"

"Armando, perhaps take the holidays to think about this," Albus suggested quietly.

The headmaster didn't look inclined to change his mind, but he also seemed weary of arguing about this. "Fine, probation then. Not that it still matters. And now get out of my sight!"

Silvanus was wise enough to leave without another word.

"The most famous hall in the entire castle nearly burned down on graduation day. What a disgrace!" Armando kept muttering. "And what in the name of Merlin did you do, Albus? Did you set off a tornado in here?"

"Don't worry. All of this can be fixed," Albus assured him.

"See that it is! I have to go talk to the parents, who would probably take their children and run if they hadn't already graduated." Armando stormed off.

There was a short pause after the headmaster's dramatic exit. Albus knew that his anger came from having to explain this to the governors, which would be difficult to do without losing face.

"Do you need help restoring the hall?" Minerva asked eventually.

"No, go look after your family," Albus told her with a soft smile.

"I'll help," said Horace, stepping forward. "These are, after all, my kind of charms."

"Yes, I never thought I would say this, but can we all agree to put Horace back in charge of decorations?" Cyrille deadpanned.

No one was really in the mood to laugh about this. Minerva left for the hospital wing while Albus and Horace concentrated their efforts on restoring the Great Hall to its former glory.

"This is actually a great opportunity. I always wanted more comfortable chairs," said Horace as he fixed the staff table.

"There probably would have been an easier way to achieve that," Albus replied as he focused on renewing the enchantments on the tables that allowed for the food to be sent up from the kitchens.

Horace chortled. "Just looking for the silver lining. Speaking of which, what should we do about that?" He pointed his thumbs at the magical ceiling that was still an ominous shade of red.

"Nothing. It will return to normal when it's ready," Albus replied, having no intention of messing with that kind of ancient magic. Most likely, it was just a warning. Or an admonition.

When they had put the finishing touches to everything, Minerva returned to the hall to see if they really didn't need any more help.

"Is everyone in your family okay?" Albus asked her.

"They're fine."

"You don't look fine," he dared to point out.

She had changed into fresh robes and she had fixed her hair, but the look in her eyes was dull. "The headmaster was right. This didn't exactly endear this school to my father."

"Then it's a good thing that all of his children have already graduated."

"One of them still works here, though." Minerva sighed. "I just wish he could see Hogwarts the way I do and understand."

"Chin up, Minerva!" Horace chimed in. "I'm putting together a little shindig in my office, so we can all wash down today's rather unpleasant turn of events. We can just add that to the list." He clapped her on the shoulder before he left the hall to prepare his party.

"Well, would you like to go?" Albus asked after Horace's exit. He wasn't the biggest fan of Horace's elaborate gatherings, but in this case, he might be on to something. The staff could really use a get-together.

Minerva agreed with an absent-minded nod. "What's its core?" she suddenly asked as they slowly followed Horace.

"I beg your pardon?" Albus replied, but he was merely stalling. He knew exactly to which topic she had just returned to.

She only gave him a prompting look. "Your wand."

"I believe it is the tail hair of a Thestral," he told her after a short pause.

"Thestral hair?" she repeated slowly. "Then that wand was always marked for death."

"Yes, as we all are, in the end. That in itself is no reason to fear it."

"Perhaps not, but that particular wand was used to murder innocent people. How can it now bear allegiance to you the same way?" she asked, thinking of Grindelwald's crimes, unaware that the wand's history reached back a lot further than that.

And Albus was not about to tell her. As she had rightly pointed out, the Elder Wand had a strong affinity for death, and he would not risk transferring that mark to her. So instead he said, "Any wand is capable of greatness, whether good or bad relies solely on the one wielding it."

"Then I am both glad and sorry that it is now in your hands," Minerva said thoughtfully.

Albus smiled. And they said that he was wise. "So am I."

* * *

It felt strange to be back in the Ministry, Minerva thought as she crossed the atrium that was as busy as it had always been. In her letters to Elphinstone, they had talked about meeting up in person again soon and Minerva had finally decided to make that happen. Thanks to the new timetable this year (that, incidentally, she had helped Albus to put together), she had a whole afternoon without classes every Wednesday. So today, she had left Hogwarts to meet Elphinstone for lunch.

Minerva remembered coming in for work like this every morning, but once she stepped off the lift on the second floor, things changed. She hadn't exactly expected a warm welcome from her former colleagues in the Magical Law Enforcement Squad, but no one even so much as looked at her. Everyone was huddled together in small groups, whispering urgently, with sombre, even shocked looks on their faces.

With a curious frown, Minerva headed straight for Elphinstone's office. He, too, looked harassed upon her entry.

"Minerva! Galloping Gargoyles, I completely forgot about our lunch! Oh, what a day!"

"Elphinstone, what's going on?" she asked, her confusion more prominent than her anger that he had forgotten about her.

Elphinstone heaved a sigh. "Close the door." She did as she was told and sat in one of the chairs. Then, after another long pause, Elphinstone said, "Wilhelmina Tuft was found dead this morning."

"The Minister died?" Minerva gaped at him. "How?"

"It's not official yet, but there was an open box of Alihotsy-flavoured fudge on her bedside table. Apparently, she wasn't aware that she was extremely allergic."

"Then it was an accident."

"That's what we are trying to find out before letting the public know, but it looks that way," Elphinstone nodded.

Minerva leaned back in her chair, stunned. "How awful." Wilhelmina Tuft had been one of the more competent Ministers for Magic they'd had in recent years.

"I know. It's a tragedy," Elphinstone agreed.

"So what's going to happen now?" Minerva wondered.

"Well…" her former boss leaned in closer, "you haven't heard this from me, but they will ask Dumbledore to step in for now."

"What?" Minerva shook her head. "But he doesn't want the job!"

Elphinstone shrugged. "It's been a good ten years since they asked him the last time. Perhaps he's changed his mind."

Minerva opened her mouth to say that she was very sure he hadn't, but then she closed it again.

"I always thought that he didn't want to leave Hogwarts like that, but now Hogwarts has you, so there's that," Elphinstone continued.

"I'm not a replacement for Albus Dumbledore."

"Of course not. You're not a replacement for anyone." Elphinstone smiled at her. "You're the genuine article."

"But not important enough to pry you away from this desk to have lunch with," she said, standing back up.

Elphinstone followed her lead. "Not today, I'm afraid. Not with… everything that's going on. But I'll make it up to you. I promise."

Minerva took his rain check without further complaint. After all, what better or more terrible excuse was there than having to deal with the fallout of the sudden death of the British Minister for Magic?

She could think about nothing else on her way back to Hogwarts. She wasn't even hungry anymore, so she bypassed the Great Hall that thankfully showed no more signs of the devastating fire from last year.

Before she had consciously decided to do so, her feet took the familiar path to Albus' office. Minerva had a feeling that he wouldn't be eating lunch right now either. Her suspicions were confirmed when she entered and Albus did not greet her with his usual smile.

"You've heard." It wasn't a question.

"Yes," he said gravely.

Minerva dropped into her favourite armchair. "I still can't believe it. It seems so silly. All she did was to eat the wrong kind of sweets."

"We can only hope that it made for a painless death," Albus replied.

She gave him a dubious look. "I hope you don't have any allergies you're not aware of."

"I would say no, but I guess that is what Wilhelmina said as well."

They were both silent for a moment. Eventually, Minerva said, "So, have they asked you yet?"

She figured Albus would already know that, too, and indeed he did. "Not officially. Of course, none of this is official yet, so perhaps I can dissuade them before it even comes to that."

"Then you're saying no?"

Albus arched an eyebrow. "I didn't think you of all people would even ask me that."

Minerva bit her lip. "I know, but these are extenuating circumstances. We need a Minister for Magic, and I shudder to think what idiot they could come up with if you turn them down again."

"So, I'm better than some idiot, is that what you're saying?"

"You know that's not…" Minerva began, but stopped when she saw that Albus' lips were curled upwards. He was merely joking. "I'm serious, Albus," she told him. "Doesn't this at least merit some consideration?"

"Believe me, Minerva, I have thought about this very thoroughly," he assured her.

She had no reason not to believe him, but she still felt that things had changed since the last time they'd had this conversation. "What if you only did it for the interim?"

"Do you really think they would let me go again?"

Minerva snorted. "I want to see anyone try to stop you."

"Exactly," Albus muttered. Before she could ask, he added, "Regardless, when I start something, I usually have every intention of seeing it through."

"And would that be so bad?" she asked, perching on the edge of her seat. "The things you could do, Albus…"

"Yes, the things I could do…" he repeated, but while she had said it with hope, his words were accompanied by a dark scowl and a crease to his forehead.

Minerva's brow furrowed as well. "Albus, I don't understand what you're trying to say."

"I told you once that I could not share my reasons with you until such a time when I was no longer your teacher." He heaved a sigh. "I suppose that time has come."

She didn't know how to respond, so she merely watched as Albus rose from behind his desk and came over to sit in the armchair next to her.

"I will not accept this nomination to become Minister for Magic, nor will I ever accept it, because I do not trust myself in such a position of power."

Minerva blinked in confusion. "That… makes no sense."

"I assure you it does, because I believe that no one who truly wants such power is actually the right person to have it," Albus explained.

"But you don't want it!" Minerva burst out. "So that makes you perfect for the job then."

"Ah, but you see, I did want it. Once. I wanted that power, not just for me but for all witches and wizards. I wanted them not to live in hiding of Muggles but in control of them. And I wanted to seize that control, that power, for the greater good."

"No." Minerva shook her head. Surely, she had heard him wrong. Surely, he wasn't saying what she thought he must be saying. "That was _him."_

Albus looked pained. "No, it wasn't. He agreed with me, of course. Well, he didn't really care about justifying the violence to himself or others, not like I did, but he seemed to think that it made for a nice slogan anyway."

"You're telling me that you, who never discriminated against another living soul, wanted to force Muggles into servitude? People like my father, my…" Minerva couldn't even finish that sentence. She only stared at Albus, into the face of the man she had thought she knew so well by now, but who felt like a stranger to her in this moment.

"You need to understand that I was stuck in my childhood home with my ailing sister and a wayward brother. All my talents wasted, or so I thought at the time. And only because Muggles had hurt Ariana, because Muggles couldn't learn of her uncontrollable bursts of magic. Gellert's ideas, they would have freed me. I think it was that as much as his formidable personality that inflamed me."

In part, Minerva realised that Albus had tried to tell her this before. That she had simply assumed that the Grindelwald Albus had met as a young man must have not been as radical and prone to violence yet. Still, it felt as if Albus hadn't exactly gone out of his way to clarify how involved he had truly been with Grindelwald.

"Why didn't you tell me this earlier?" she asked, though it didn't really matter. She was merely trying to buy herself some time to think.

"As you can imagine, this is not something I like to talk about, or have in fact talked about with anyone, as I am deeply ashamed of it," Albus replied, his voice raw. "I'm prepared to own up to my mistakes, but I was not prepared to see you look at me the way you're looking at me now."

Minerva quickly dropped her gaze, which wouldn't make this any better for either one of them. But she didn't know what else to do.

When the bell rang, she flinched and jumped to her feet. "I need to get to class," she said and fled the room. Only when she was down the hall, did she remember that she didn't actually have a class to teach.

* * *

The news of the Minister's death broke the next morning. It caused the kind of panic that was to be expected, and it only worsened when Albus stayed true to his word and once again refused the post. His decision was hotly debated, with half of the British community applauding him, the other hating on him.

It made Minerva sick to her stomach that her reaction had been just as fast and unkind. But she figured that they would find time to talk when things had calmed down again for Albus and he was less beleaguered. After all, they had a standing arrangement now to meet up for a game of chess, Christmas or not.

Except, Albus didn't show up that evening. Annoyed at being stood up, Minerva went looking for him, but he wasn't in his office or the staff room and he hadn't informed anyone about having to leave for the Ministry. The only other option Minerva could think of was Hogsmeade. Even for a man who didn't drink much, this might be the week to make an exception.

So she decided to take a stroll down to the village to try her luck. She struck out at the Three Broomsticks, which only left the Hog's Head. Minerva had never gone in there, but she quickly realised that she should have. Because the man behind the bar looked at her with familiar bright blue eyes.

Another thing Albus had failed to mention, apparently. Increasingly annoyed, Minerva headed straight for the bartender. "I'm looking for Albus. Do you know where he is?"

Aberforth Dumbledore arched an eyebrow, not unlike his brother always did. "Sorry, haven't seen him."

With a huff, Minerva sank onto one of the barstools. She was officially out of ideas.

"So, are you getting a drink or what?" Aberforth asked gruffly.

"Fine, I'll have a Gillywater."

"Nah, you look like you could use something stronger." He reached for a bottle and put a glass of whisky in front of her.

Minerva stared at the bottle of Johnnie Walker. "How did you know that?"

"Know what?"

"That's my father's favourite drink – if he drinks. Did Albus talk to you about me?"

"My brother talk about someone else but him?" Aberforth snorted. "I don't think so."

"He did tell me about you," Minerva countered, not bothering to hide the challenge in her voice.

"Yeah? Had a lot of good things to say about me, did he?" Aberforth reached for another glass and poured a whisky for himself.

He tried to act nonchalant, but his eyelid twitched, and Minerva found that she had become accustomed to reading some of those Dumbledore mannerisms. "Actually, yes. He said that you opened his eyes to the truth. And even though you didn't find it in your heart to forgive him and to stand with him during the worst time of both of your lives, choosing to abandon him instead and to increase his pain, he said that you are in many ways the better man."

Aberforth paused with his glass halfway to his mouth, looking sceptical. "Albus said all that?"

"Well, not the middle part. That was me," Minerva told him straight up.

"Listen," said Aberforth, putting his glass back down on the counter. "You seem like a smart lady with a father who's got good taste in whisky, so let me give you some advice. Stop looking for my brother."

When Minerva met Aberforth's gaze across the bar, she noticed that his eyes weren't exactly the same as Albus' after all. They glittered with a coldness, where Minerva was used to pure warmth, and where Albus' eyes had a softness to them, Aberforth's eyes were hard. The blue was the same, though, and the pain. Clearly, neither brother had gotten over the loss of the sister.

"Why?" she asked.

"Because while you're here spending all your time and energy looking for him, do you know where he is?"

It was a rhetorical question, so Minerva only gave him an annoyed look, waiting for him to enlighten her.

"He is not looking for you in return," Aberforth said. His words were simple, but they couldn't have been more harsh. "And he won't. Because that's not who he is. He doesn't get attached to people like you or I do, only ideas and empty principles."

It took a moment for Minerva to stomach that. "I don't think you really know Albus anymore," she said, steel creeping into her voice.

At least, Aberforth didn't try to deny it. "And you think you do?"

"I know he's not the same man you're still holding on to," Minerva replied, and she realised the truth the moment she said it. "He's changed."

The look on Aberforth's face was one of pity, which rankled her immensely. "Then I hope for your sake that you'll be left standing when he changes again."

"I will," Minerva assured him and reached for her glass to down it in one.

She tried not to grimace when the whisky burned down her throat, but Aberforth grinned anyway.

"Well, bar is always open," he said.

Minerva glared at him and left, making her way back up to the castle. In the twilight, she almost missed the tall figure leaving the gamekeeper's cabin. Bemused, Minerva shook her head and hurried to catch up with him.

"Where were you?"

When Albus raised an eyebrow, it was hard not to think of Aberforth. "I just had a visit with Hagrid. He makes an excellent dandelion tea, but I wouldn't touch the cakes unless you have a tooth or two you're looking to part ways with."

Minerva didn't even bother to acknowledge that response. "I meant, where were you when you were supposed to play chess with me."

"I didn't think you wanted to see me," Albus replied in all seriousness.

"So you thought I would never talk to you again because you made a mistake when you were seventeen?" Minerva laughed humourlessly. "Then I would no longer be talking to a great many people, my own brothers included."

Albus, who had stopped when she had called out to him, slowly continued on his path to the front doors of the castle. "I highly doubt that your brothers' transgressions were of a similar or even remotely comparable nature."

"Of course not, because somehow everything you do is always twice as significant as what everybody else is doing. Twice as good and twice as bad."

"And twice as upsetting," Albus added.

Minerva sighed. "Yes, I admit I was upset. You know how much I hate the general lack of compassion among wizards for Muggles. It was hard for me to accept that you could have ever harboured those same thoughts. And I shudder to think what would have happened if you hadn't come to your senses."

"So do I."

Despite his occasional jokes to the contrary, Albus always seemed younger to her than he numbered in years because she could feel life and power pulse in his veins – and not only when he was doing his incredible magic. But in this moment in the semi-darkness, with his shoulders slumped and his eyes downcast, he looked ancient – not his body but his soul.

"But then I realised," Minerva continued quickly, "that I was doing the same thing that everyone else always does to you. Expecting you to be perfect, which I know you're not."

Albus lifted his eyes back up to meet hers. "I can assure you, Minerva, you cannot despise me more than I despise myself."

They had reached the front doors, but that was not why Minerva reached out for his hand to force him to a stop. "Oh, Albus, I'm saying that whatever you did when you were a grieving, angry seventeen-year-old has no bearing on how I feel about the man you are now."

"And how's that?" he asked.

All Minerva could see clearly in the dark was the light in his blue eyes, and she was very glad that it hadn't gone out the way it seemed to be missing from his brother. "Well, I suppose it's rather the opposite of how you're feeling about yourself."

For the first time in a couple of days it seemed, Albus' lips curled up into a smile. "I'll take that," he said and pushed open the front door. "Can I walk you back to your office?"

"No, you stood me up tonight and had me chasing you all over the place. You better come up with something other than a game of chess," Minerva replied, equal parts serious and amused.

Albus chuckled. "Understood."

* * *

**A/N: I know the story about the fire in the Great Hall and the Ashwinders goes a little differently, but I took the liberty of using it in a way that fit my purposes better. Hope you don't mind. If you do, feel free to let me know. I love hearing from you and I want to thank you all for your reviews, especially those of you I can't respond to directly, all the guests and especially Viv! Thank you for your very, very kind words, and Viv, I one hundred percent agree with your interpretation of Albus' sexual orientation. In my mind, he falls in love with a person, not with a gender, since he is one of the least discriminatory characters in the Harry Potter universe.**


	34. New Life

**34\. New Life**

After overseeing the detention of two of her fourth-year students, Minerva was late for dinner. The corridors were as deserted as was to be expected with the whole school down in the Great Hall and so Minerva wasn't prepared for a student to come bursting out of the girls' bathroom and barrel right into her.

Minerva wheezed as the collision forced the air out of her lungs. Quickly, she grabbed the student by the scruff of her neck. It was a stout girl from Slytherin whose name she couldn't recall at the moment.

"No running in the corridors!" she admonished her.

"Sorry, Professor," the girl gave the kind of quick, automatic response that meant she wasn't sorry in the least. "But there's a girl in there. I think she might be dying or something," she added with a sickeningly excited look on her face.

"What?" Minerva snapped and hastily pushed open the door to the bathroom with the Slytherin girl on her heels.

"She's in that last stall back there."

As it turned out, Minerva wouldn't have needed those directions because she could hear that there was another girl in there. A girl who was whimpering and moaning in pain and then outright screaming.

Minerva ran towards the stall she was hiding in and tried the door, but it was locked. Impatiently, Minerva tapped it with her wand and then ripped it open.

"What's going on in here? Where are you hurt?" she asked as her eyes found a Ravenclaw girl, who was sitting on the floor next to the toilet. She was even larger than the girl from Slytherin, but she also seemed to be wearing robes at least one size too big for her.

More importantly, she was in tears, sweating profusely and completely red in the face – all of which prevented her from answering. But she spread her legs that were shaking rather uncontrollably. First, Minerva saw the blood on the wet floor, and then when she bent over to lift the hem of the girl's robes, her heart stopped for a second.

"Ew, gross! Is she having a baby?" the Slytherin girl screeched in a voice even higher and more girlish than normal.

Minerva didn't bother with an answer. "Go to the hospital wing and alert Madam Hailstone!" she ordered her.

"But that's got to be against school rules!" the girl mused. "Is she going to be expelled?"

Incensed, Minerva whirled around to her. "Are you deaf? Go get Madam Hailstone! NOW!"

Finally, that toad of a girl left, though not as quickly as Minerva would have liked. But she was not her priority right now.

Minerva dropped to the floor and rolled up her sleeves, while she tried to remember the girl's name. She was a sixth-year in a class Minerva had only just started teaching this year. Now that she would get to know this girl a lot more intimately than she had ever planned to, she should definitely recall her name. Then it came to her. Ceri. Ceri Scanlan.

"Okay, Ceri, I'm here with you now. I will help you," Minerva said gently as she pushed the girl's robes up over her knees so she could see better. The top of the baby's head was still visible, though it seemed thoroughly stuck, which wasn't very surprising. After all, it looked as though the skin around it couldn't possibly stretch any further and Minerva could already see signs of tearing and bleeding.

Admittedly, the sight made her a little woozy, but she calmed herself with a couple of steady breaths. She was not the one in labour right now.

"Ceri, your baby is crowning, which means that you need to push but not too hard. Just let your body do what it was made to do, okay?" Minerva said, making her voice sound a lot more confident than she felt. Her only practical experience with this process came from watching a cow give birth on Dougal's farm years ago.

But her level of confidence was irrelevant since Ceri wasn't really listening anyway. She was too busy wailing and moaning. "It hurts! It hurts so much!"

Minerva felt the urge to grab the girl and drill some sense into her, but that would have been neither appropriate nor particularly helpful. "I know it hurts because you're trying to give birth to another human being. But you've already made it through most of it!" And without anyone noticing, which should have been completely impossible. "It's almost over!"

"I can't! I don't want to. It burns!"

"Okay, listen up, Ceri!" Minerva said, resting her hands on the top of her knees. "You let a boy put that baby in your belly, so God help me, you better be prepared to get it out of there! You hear me?"

Weakly and whimpering, the girl nodded.

"Good, now push!"

The girl did as she was told, and Minerva was torn between concern for the young mother and the baby. Eventually, a little baby boy slipped out into Minerva's waiting hands. Quickly, she wrapped him in fresh blankets she had already conjured and cut the umbilical cord with her wand. Ceri was half passed out and bleeding profusely, but even if Minerva hadn't been out of her depth here, she wouldn't have known what to do. Her wand had slipped from her fingers because of all the blood and vernix on her hands, and more importantly, she had a screaming newborn baby in her arms.

Thankfully, she heard the approach of hurried footsteps and then someone pushed open the door to the bathroom. "Over here, Anna Mae!" Minerva called out to the Hogwarts matron.

Within seconds, she appeared in the door to the bathroom stall, her hand flying to her mouth. "Merlin's Beard!"

"I think the baby's fine for now, but the mother needs help," Minerva told her.

The matron bent over the baby in Minerva's arms, checking his airways and his heartbeat, and then, apparently satisfied, she helped Minerva back to her feet, so she could gently move her out of the way and get to the bleeding student on the floor.

In the meantime, Cyrille had also stumbled into the bathroom, white as a sheet, and together the two women took care of Ceri Scanlan. Since the girl was in no condition to hold her baby yet, Minerva walked back over to the washbasins.

Still feeling a little shaky herself, she sank back to the floor there. Leaning against one of the hot water pipes for warmth, she tried to comfort the helpless infant in her arms.

To this day, Albus had thought that he had heard every crazy and outlandish rumour imaginable within the walls of Hogwarts Castle. After all, he himself supposedly was breeding dragons in the dungeons, had an army of vampires at his disposal and of course had once carried on an affair with a student. None of that compared to the rumour that a student was just giving birth in a girls' bathroom on the fourth floor.

It was completely absurd, but also too real to be made up. So he headed for that particular bathroom just in time to see the Hogwarts matron and Ravenclaw's Head of House accompany a girl on a stretcher towards the hospital wing. Despite his curiosity and concern, Albus didn't stop them to ask questions. The girl's well-being clearly took precedence.

Instead, he opened the door to the bathroom to see the aftermath for himself, and then he stopped dead because nothing could have prepared him for the sight that greeted him. There was blood on the floor and a little further down there was Minerva, also sitting on the floor, with her head leaning against one of the pipes and her eyes closed. And in her arms she was holding a tiny baby that truly couldn't be more than a few hours old. It had the tiny fingers of its right hand wrapped around Minerva's little finger and seemed to be sleeping. Its forehead was a little wrinkled as though it couldn't believe how exhausting it had been to come into this world.

"In all my years of teaching…" Albus muttered quietly, astonished, leaving his sentence unfinished.

"Oh, then you didn't forget to tell me that this happens every five years or so?" Minerva asked, her eyes flying back open. "Good, because if so, I quit."

"I'm afraid in this case I don't have any answers," Albus said slowly, his eyes still glued to the image of her and that baby. "In fact, I was going to ask you the questions. Starting with, why are you sitting on the floor?"

Minerva sighed. "I lost my wand and I sort of had my hands full."

"I see. Well, that is easily rectified at least." Albus took out his wand and called hers to him from across the room. It was covered in a variety of substances the exact nature of which he probably didn't need to know. He cleaned it and then intended to conjure a chair or perhaps a crib or something of the sort, but Minerva stopped him.

"Don't bother. I don't want to move and wake him. Not until we know… what to do with him."

"Then it's a boy?"

"Yes, it's a boy. A boy without a name, born on a Hogwarts bathroom floor," Minerva said, her voice coloured with disbelief.

Albus shared the sentiment, and since he was fresh out of bright ideas, he simply sat down on the floor next to her. "You'll have to walk me through this from the beginning. Tell me what happened."

"I don't know what happened," Minerva snapped. "I came in here and his head was already halfway out!"

"So you just… pulled out the rest?" Albus asked, his eyebrows raised.

Minerva snorted. "Should I have tried to stuff him back inside?"

"I meant, have you ever done this before?"

"Sort of." She shrugged. "With a cow."

"Well, I suppose the principle is the same," Albus surmised.

Minerva gave him a scathing look. "Oh, yes, please do share your vast knowledge of the female reproductive system, Albus."

She was clearly upset, so he tried a more soothing tone. "I'm sorry you went through an ordeal, Minerva, but I'm sure you did wonderfully under the circumstances. This baby looks healthy to me and I trust that Anna Mae will take care of the mother."

It worked. The glare in her eyes softened. "I'm sorry, too. I just… how could this happen, Albus? How did we not know that she was pregnant?"

"Who exactly is the mother?" he asked.

"Ceri Scanlan, Ravenclaw sixth-year."

Albus nodded slowly. "I didn't have her in my classes this year."

"I just got her and I thought she was merely a little on the heavy side," Minerva said.

"She is. Always has been," Albus remembered.

"Still, someone should have noticed a difference!" Minerva insisted. "At the very least, the girls in her dormitory must have known!"

"Sometimes students get very creative when it comes to hiding secrets. Or perhaps she asked them not to tell."

Minerva still wasn't happy with that explanation. "Even if we forget the 'not noticing the pregnancy' part, how about the 'how did she actually get pregnant' part?"

"Well, we can't be certain that it happened at school," Albus said.

"Does that make it better?" Minerva asked wearily.

"Marginally."

"I don't think it does. She's sixteen, Albus. She's still a child. She should go to school and finish her education."

He considered that. "Perhaps she can, if there's family who could look after the baby."

"And then she'll see him for two weeks over Easter? He's her baby, not a pet. She needs to be with him. He needs her to be with him, and she needs to grow the bloody hell up, and fast," Minerva said, probably unaware of the protectiveness in her voice.

Albus looked at her thoughtfully. "There will definitely be questions that need to be answered. Perhaps not today, though."

"No, not today," Minerva agreed, heaving a sigh. "I didn't even do anything and I feel like I could sleep for hours." She rested her head on his shoulder.

"For what it's worth, it's a good look on you," Albus observed after a moment of letting her rest.

Minerva lifted her head to meet his gaze. "Having blood and other bodily fluids on my hands and robes?" she asked sarcastically.

"Holding a baby in your arms," Albus clarified, though it seemed hardly necessary.

She lowered her eyes to the sleeping infant. "I don't think so," she said mutedly. Albus had never asked since the answer could only cause her pain, but it was likely that the man she had loved and had intended to marry once had children of his own by now. Children that could have been hers in a different life. It was probably why she had not allowed herself to think about the possibility.

"There's still time," he said gently, because it was true. Even several years into her teaching career, she was still a young woman. Young and completely focused on her job as a Hogwarts professor. Sometimes Albus wondered if Hogwarts had gotten the better end of that deal.

"I guess," she replied without any conviction. "What about you then?"

Now it was Albus, who could only shake his head with a sad smile. It had never been a part of his path, not before and certainly not after.

To his surprise, Minerva gave a little laugh. "You know, when I was younger, I had this crazy idea that you might have seven children, who obviously couldn't go to Hogwarts, so I imagined they would attend other wizarding schools and eventually come back to save the world."

"Oh my," Albus muttered, not completely sure how to respond to that. "I'm afraid I was never granted such a magnificent legacy."

"There's still time," she echoed his own words.

Albus' lips twitched. "To have seven children who will save the world?"

"Well, you should probably get started soon," Minerva quipped.

If only dreams were all it took, Albus thought. "I don't think everyone is cut out to be a parent," he said out loud.

"No, certainly not," Minerva nodded. "But I hope you're not talking about yourself, because it seems to me that the most important qualification one needs is love."

"I see you're trying to beat me with my own weapons," Albus noted with a chuckle. "But sometimes it's a little more complicated than that."

"Is it?" Minerva looked at the baby again. "I never thought I knew how to help new life come into this world, but I just did that."

Albus smiled down at the baby as well. Even though there was an argument to be made that his boy should have never been born at all, at least not until his parents would have been older, it was still a nice thought that the Quill of Acceptance might be putting his (yet to be chosen) name down for Hogwarts in this very moment.

"Then perhaps for now it's enough if we find a good home for this little one." He stood and offered to help Minerva back up as well without jostling the baby too much.

Once they were both back on their feet, they paused for a few seconds, but the baby didn't wake. Helping out with her younger brothers as a little girl seemed to have prepared Minerva well for this day. Nevertheless, they made their way to the hospital wing slowly, which also gave Albus time to make sure that they wouldn't be spotted by the prying eyes of nosy students. There were quite enough rumours swirling around the castle already.

As soon as they entered the hospital wing, the matron hurried over to them. "There you are! I was getting worried. I still have to give the baby a proper check-up and then we'll need to get him fed," Anna Mae said, reaching out for the infant.

For a fleeting moment, Minerva looked reluctant to hand him over, but it passed quickly.

"How is Miss Scanlan?" Albus asked since the curtains were drawn around one of the beds, which blocked her from view.

"She's recovering and fully conscious now. She's asking for the baby," Anna Mae replied while she checked and cleaned the newborn. "Who seems to be in good health, thank Merlin! I don't even want to think what might have happened if you hadn't found her, Minerva."

"I didn't really do all that much," she said.

"You were there. Can you imagine giving birth on your own in a bathroom – at sixteen?" Anna Mae shook her head. "I never heard of such a thing!"

That they could probably all agree on. The Hogwarts matron lifted the baby back up into her arms and carried him over to the bed. Minerva and Albus followed and the latter pulled the curtains aside. Ceri Scanlan was half sitting up and Cyrille, her Head of House, was standing next to her bed.

"Are you ready to meet your son?" Anna Mae said and gently transferred the baby from her arms to the waiting arms of his mother.

"Be sure to mind his head," Minerva warned when the young mother looked uncertain how to handle him.

"He's so small," she whispered, her eyes wide with wonder. Clearly, she had no idea what to expect. Then again, how could she? How could anyone?

"Yes, and you'll have to take better care of him from now on," Cyrille told her. She had regained some colour, but her brow was still furrowed.

Ceri looked scared, but all that meant was that she had some sense after all. "I know I should have told someone, but I was afraid that I would get kicked out of school."

No one said anything, which was an answer in itself.

"You are kicking me out, aren't you?"

"Well, be sensible, Ceri. Hogwarts is no place for a baby," Cyrille said.

Anna Mae bobbed her head. "And I am no midwife."

"But perhaps, you can come back when he's older," Minerva suggested kindly, which made both Albus and Ceri smile.

"Would that be okay? Even though I'll be too old by then?" the girl asked.

Albus had kept quiet so far because this felt like a situation where a woman's touch was needed, but now he leaned in a little closer. "One can never be too old to learn," he assured his former student.

She smiled broadly now, but only until the headmaster arrived in the hospital wing. Armando was definitely not smiling, but he didn't try to talk to Ceri. He just headed for the matron's office and waved for his teachers to follow him inside.

Albus brought up the rear and closed the door behind them.

"I talked to the girl's parents," Armando informed them. "They are on their way to take her home and to take care of her and the baby and hopefully to see her married soon."

"She's only sixteen!" Minerva protested.

"Yes, and clearly that was old enough to have a baby. So it's definitely old enough to get married," Armando replied angrily.

Minerva looked as though she had a similarly heated response ready, so Albus quickly cut her off. "I don't think that is for us to decide."

"No. We just need to decide how this happened and what I'm supposed to tell the governors as to how it won't ever happen again," Armando said sharply.

Cyrille cleared her throat. "Well, she says the father graduated in June, though she wouldn't give me his name. I have my suspicions, but I'm not sure it matters much, not to us anyway, since he is no longer a student at this school."

"How convenient."

"It is insofar that I believe that it was consensual at least."

Armando groaned. "Yes, I'm sure the governors will be very pleased to hear that they enjoyed themselves."

"They should be, or we'd be having a very different conversation," Cyrille said wearily. "But if that's not enough, then you should fire me. I'm her Head of House. I should have noticed something. Clearly, I'm losing my touch."

"You're being too hard on yourself," Minerva jumped in right away before Armando could respond. "There's a lot more blame to go around."

"Minerva is right. No one's firing you, Cyrille," Albus agreed.

The headmaster coughed. "I believe that is still my decision."

"Of course." Albus inclined his head. "But unless you wish to fire all of us…?"

"Not all of you. You didn't teach her this year, did you?" Armando pointed out. "Once again, Albus Dumbledore keeps a perfect record."

Not for the first time Albus noticed that Armando tended to become somewhat unpleasant when he was under a lot of stress. It was understandable but a little tiresome all the same. "I don't see how looking for retribution among the staff will in any way help the students," he replied calmly.

Armando also took a deep breath. "You're right. But I still have to put you on probation, Cyrille. It just looks better that way, you understand. We'll also push curfew to eight thirty for the time being and I want more patrols in the corridors after hours. And we'll have to talk to the students about abstinence, I suppose…"

He made a face as if someone had just forced him to swallow a whole cauldron of Polyjuice Potion. Then his eyes landed on Minerva. "You're a preacher's daughter, aren't you? I feel like Albus mentioned that once."

"I… my father is a minister," Minerva corrected him coolly.

"Excellent! You can take care of that then," Armando decided. "I have to see if the parents are here yet," he added and stormed back out of the office.

Cyrille followed him quietly.

Minerva hadn't moved. "Albus," she said, her voice trembling with fury. "I'll be needing my wand back now."

"Actually, I think I better hold on to it a little longer," Albus replied, escaping the office and her blazing eyes as well.

He didn't get very far because Ceri waved him and Minerva over to the side of her bed once more. "Professor Sowerby and the headmaster just left. They're getting my parents, aren't they?"

"Yes."

When Ceri lowered her gaze, biting her lip, Minerva asked, "You didn't tell them either, did you?"

"No," Ceri confessed. "They'll be so mad. What if they're mad at him, too? What if they give him away?" she worried, readjusting her hold on her baby.

"Your parents may be upset, and they have a right to be. What you did was irresponsible, at the very least. But they do not have the right to hurt you or your child. No one will take him away from you, Ceri," Minerva promised her, which was a bold statement, since the girl was still underage, but Albus agreed with it in principle.

It seemed to calm her down a little, which was well worth it in any case. "I've been thinking about a name. I think I will call him Owen," she told them, looking back up with a smile. "You know, because owls were sort of the spirit animals of the ancient goddess Minerva, weren't they? And you were like his fairy godmother today."

Etymologically speaking, the name Owen had nothing to do with owls, but Albus saw no reason to mention that. "That is a very nice name," was all he said, because Minerva didn't seem to have the words right now.

Her anger had quickly dissipated, though, so while Ceri was busy getting acquainted with her son, Albus slipped Minerva's wand back into her hand. "Perhaps you ought to reconsider," he said quietly and only for her ears. "I'm sure the children you once planned to have and who are now never meant to be would forgive you if you were to have others."

"I think I have a whole school of them now," Minerva replied, her fingers curling around her wand and brushing his. "And just so we're clear, I will teach the first-years eleven years from now."

Albus smiled. "Of course, you will."

* * *

**A/N: First of all, over 100 reviews! Thank you so much! I know the idea of a pregnancy is a little 'out there' and not something that is ever discussed in the books, obviously. But I think it is bound to happen every now and then in a boarding school – a giant castle no less – where 16- and 17-year-olds are only separated by one set of stairs. Plus, once I had that image in my head of Albus and Minerva sitting on the bathroom floor with that baby, I couldn't stop myself.**


	35. Lullaby

**A/N: It's Friday and that means it's time for a new chapter - because you guys are so wonderfully supportive and your reviews are so amazing, it truly motivates me to update regularly. This chapter turned out shamelessly sweet. But no apologies, really. Hope you like it.**

* * *

**35\. Lullaby**

Unexpected visitors were a rare occurrence at Hogwarts, but when Minerva got an owl from Elphinstone, asking for an urgent meeting, she left her office to let him onto the school grounds and welcome him in the Entrance Hall.

"I'm so sorry to barge in like this," the head of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad said when he entered the castle.

"No need," Minerva assured him. "But why didn't you mention that you were planning to come up to Scotland?"

Elphinstone sighed and took off his hat. "Unfortunately, this is not a social call, Minerva. Can we talk somewhere in private?"

Trying not to worry before she knew if there really was cause for alarm, Minerva nodded. "Of course. This way."

She led her former boss back into her office and offered him a seat and something to drink.

"Yes, I think tea would help. And make it a strong one."

"You're really beginning to worry me, Elphinstone," Minerva said as she conjured two cups and sat as well.

Elphinstone tried to give her a small smile. "That's not my intention, but better safe than sorry, right?"

"I don't think I can agree with that until I know what exactly I would rather not want to be sorry about," Minerva replied.

"Right, well, do you remember Eion Northcroft?" Elphinstone asked almost timidly.

Minerva nodded. "You know I do. He was one of the biggest arrests I made during my time with the Squad."

"Yes, but you probably don't know that he recently offered to divulge new information about some of his still unsolved crimes in exchange for his sentence in Azkaban to be reduced." Elphinstone paused as though expecting her to comment.

"I no longer have anything to do with such dealings of the Ministry," Minerva said. And she was immensely grateful for that.

"It doesn't really matter because Northcroft never actually got to the Ministry. He escaped during transport."

Minerva nearly dropped her cup of tea. "He did what? But that's supposed to be impossible!"

"It's impossible to break out of Azkaban, yes," Elphinstone agreed. "But they had already taken him off the island and somebody made the call not to bring along the Dementors, and well, we don't really know what happened then, but it's clear he got his hands on a wand somehow."

"But the Dementors are looking for him now?" Minerva assumed.

"Yes, and so are the Aurors, and I'm sure we'll catch him soon, but…" Elphinstone trailed off.

"… you haven't yet," Minerva finished his sentence for him.

"No. The Aurors think that Northcroft will try to leave the country as soon as possible, because that would be the easiest way for him to disappear for a while, and I must say I agree. However, there is a slight, highly unlikely possibility that he might be coming for you."

Minerva's eyebrows shot up. "Me? What good would that do him?"

"Nothing, of course, but we don't know how his mind works. He could have spent all these years dreaming about revenge, or he might want to embarrass the Ministry further, or he could be following whatever depraved instincts made him murder innocent people in the first place." Elphinstone looked miserable and honestly concerned. "The fact of the matter is that you and you alone found and arrested him, so I just want you to be prepared. Just in case. That's why I came here in person."

She reached over and squeezed his hand. "Thank you. For warning me. But no one just walks right into Hogwarts to kill someone."

"Good, then perhaps just stay inside the castle for a while, yes?" Elphinstone suggested with a slightly forced smile. "Just until we've caught him again."

"Perhaps it would be more prudent if I went out there to help you look for him," Minerva mused.

"No, no," Elphinstone said quickly. "I think you should stay right here. You're a teacher now, so go teach."

Before Minerva could respond to that, there was a swift knock on her office door and Albus entered with a bunch of papers in his hand.

"I apologise," he said when he saw that she had company. "I didn't mean to interrupt. I just thought I'd give you the exam questions you asked for."

"Thank you," Minerva replied, standing up to take the scrolls of parchment from him. "Albus, this is Elphinstone Urquart from the Magical Law Enforcement Squad," she added.

"Ah, yes, of course." Albus reached over to shake the other man's hand.

"We've caught glimpses of each other occasionally over the years, but there never seems to be enough time to talk," said Elphinstone. "And unfortunately, now is not the time either, since I'm only here because of the situa…"

"Because he wanted to catch up. With me," Minerva cut him off.

Both men gave her curious looks, and there was an awkward pause until Albus said, "Well, I will leave you to it then."

"I'm sorry," Elphinstone said once Albus had left. "I didn't realise you didn't want him to know."

"I just don't see any reason to make a big deal out of this by alerting the staff."

Elphinstone shrugged. "Up to you, I guess. Just promise me that you'll be careful."

Minerva smiled softly. "I'll be fine."

Even though he was needed back at the Ministry, Elphinstone made up excuses not to leave for a little while longer. When he finally left, Minerva skipped dinner in the Great Hall to catch up on work. She worked well past her usual bedtime, so when she finally went to bed, she really needed to get some sleep.

In theory, at least. In reality, she was lying on her back, staring at the ceiling with her eyes wide open. Thoughts and memories were cascading through her like a waterfall. At first, she just thought back to when she had caught Northcroft in the hope of remembering something useful she could pass on to Elphinstone to help with the search. But then, with that came the memory of her rapid heartbeat and the fear in her veins when Northcroft's Killing Curse had only missed her by inches. The realisation that she hadn't been at the top of her game because she had been too miserable to care, and the complete certainty that Northcroft would have used that to kill her without batting an eye.

She had prevailed, but no one truly knew how easily she might not have. The idea that the man who had almost killed her was now back out there, possibly hurting others, was more disconcerting than Minerva had previously thought. Well, earlier today she had sat in her warm, brightly lit office, surrounded by the hustle and bustle of students and teachers alike. Now she was alone in her cold, dark bedroom in an ominously quiet castle that had more entrances than most people realised.

Northcroft wasn't here, of course. She knew that. Day or night, light or dark, what she had told Elphinstone was still true. No one just walked into Hogwarts Castle with murder on their mind. Because if they did, they would have hundreds of innocent victims right there at their fingertips.

With a huff, Minerva threw back the covers and got out of bed. She considered putting on a dressing gown, but then she simply stepped out into the corridor and transformed. As a cat, she didn't have her wand, which made her feel vulnerable, but she could see and hear a lot better and thus search the castle a lot faster.

It still took the rest of the night until she was truly satisfied that the castle was safe. When she returned to her rooms, she fell back onto her bed for all of five minutes before it was time for breakfast. She could have tried to sleep through it, but since she hadn't eaten anything for hours, that seemed unwise. She told herself that the lack of sleep was worth it and only temporary.

Minerva dropped into her usual chair at the staff table in the Great Hall, wondering how she would teach her classes today if she was too tired to reach for some food even.

Somebody placed a bowl with a sharp citrusy scent right in front of her. "What's this?" she asked wearily.

"Fresh grapefruit with cinnamon," Albus replied cheerfully. "I hear it's great hangover food."

"I'm not hung over!" Minerva said indignantly, doing her best to sit up a little straighter.

"No? You weren't at dinner last night, so I thought you and Elphinstone had a…" Albus cleared his throat, "… late night, catching up."

Minerva was too worn out to decipher all the nuances of what he was implying, but she didn't like it on principle. "First of all, if we had, it would be none of your business, and second, who even thinks of such a thing as grapefruit with cinnamon?"

"Someone who wants you to live a long and happy life, though we can settle for long and leave happy for when you're in a better mood," Albus replied, his eyes twinkling.

"And you think this will help with that?" Minerva asked dubiously, nodding towards the bowl of fruit.

"I will get you whatever it is you need if you tell me what it is," Albus told her, and his tone was just a little too sincere to pass for another joke.

Minerva was definitely too exhausted to get into that, so she just ate her grapefruit.

The day passed agonisingly slowly, and worst of all, after class was over, she still had exams to prepare. Minerva had never been one to procrastinate. In this case, she could have made an exception. But she was afraid that even if she were to go to bed, she wouldn't find sleep. She had hoped for a message from Elphinstone, but it hadn't come. Northcroft was still out there.

Later that evening, Minerva sat in an armchair, staring into the fireplace, imagining Northcroft's face as best as she could remember it. It was hazy, distorted, not by fear so much as anger. Anger that he dared to disrupt her life like this and be a potential threat to people around her.

She must have dozed off a little because the next thing she got aware of was a shadow falling over her and a tall figure closing in. Within seconds, Minerva had her wand in her hand and a curse on her lips.

A Shield Charm flickered when her spell bounced off harmlessly. It brightened her dimly lit office for a moment. Enough to recognise the familiar face of her unannounced visitor.

"I take it that is a 'no' to hot chocolate to help you sleep," Albus said drily.

"Good Lord, I'm sorry!" Minerva breathed, sinking deeper into her chair and dropping her wand.

Albus swiftly sat in the chair next to her and leaned forward to rest a hand on top of her own. "You can curse me any time you want, but since there are less deserving targets who could come walking through that door, I really need you to talk to me, Minerva. What's going on?"

She heaved a sigh before she told him the truth. "Elphinstone wasn't here yesterday to catch up. He came to tell me that Eion Northcroft has escaped the Ministry's custody."

Albus took a moment to place the name. "The wizard you arrested shortly before ending your Ministry career? How did I not hear about that?"

"They are hushing it up in the hope of catching him before they need to tell anyone," Minerva replied. "But they haven't yet."

"And Elphinstone thinks that he might be coming for you," Albus guessed shrewdly.

"It's unlikely, and it's silly, but… I spent last night patrolling the corridors," Minerva admitted. "Because if – for whatever reason – the students were to get hurt, I would never forgive myself."

Albus caressed the back of her hand with his thumb. "Minerva, Hogwarts is very well protected."

"I know that! I said it was silly, didn't I?" she snapped.

He looked at her thoughtfully for a moment. "Okay, come with me," he said, rising.

"To do what?" Minerva asked stubbornly.

"Humour me. Please."

She met the look in his soft but equally determined blue eyes and gave in. They left her office and it didn't take long for Minerva to recognise that they were heading for his instead. But she didn't comment, not until they had stepped into Albus' rooms and then in his bedroom.

"Now sleep," was all he said.

Minerva had a little more to say than that. "What? No! Humouring you doesn't mean that you can tell me what to do, and if I wanted to go to bed, I could bloody well sleep in my own bed."

"Is that why you were up all night yesterday?" Albus countered.

"So I didn't sleep well…"

"… or at all."

"I'm not a child. I don't need you to tuck me in!" she argued.

Albus remained just as insistent. "Leaning on a friend doesn't make you a child," he said, his voice calm and reassuring, as always.

"But we just both agreed that this is unnecessary," Minerva reminded him. "He's not coming for me at Hogwarts."

"I'm not saying he is, but at night we all tend to have irrational thoughts sometimes. I just think it helps to know that someone is there. Someone who is more real than the fear."

They had reached that familiar moment in their argument where Minerva could no longer find or didn't even want to find a rebuttal because the points Albus was making were not only reasonable but caring. Still, her eyes strayed towards the bed with some hesitation. Because even if she accepted his offer, she wasn't clear on the exact logistics he was proposing.

He seemed to read all that on her face. "I will be in my office. Fawkes will stay with you," he said. As if on cue, the phoenix flew over from his usual perch in the sitting room. He cocked his head and blinked at her with his beautiful, beady eyes.

With the two of them ganging up on her, Minerva was quite powerless to refuse. "Fine."

Albus smiled. "Sleep tight then."

He left for his office while Minerva stood there, feeling awkward, for a moment longer. But God, she was exhausted. It might hurt her pride a little, but knowing that Albus was so close – smelling him on the very pillow she would rest her head on –, it made her feel warm and protected. And that feeling stubbornly refused to go away.

So she took off her shoes and crawled onto the bed. Only it wasn't quite that simple. The irrational fear that Northcroft might find a way to get into Hogwarts had only been part of the problem after all. Exchanging her bed for Albus' didn't mean that Minerva could just shut off her brain.

In that moment, Fawkes began to sing. Softly, barely loud enough to be heard in the next room, but the melody was so peaceful and uplifting that it magically seemed to force all dark thoughts from her mind. In fact, it probably was magic.

A phoenix lullaby.

As soon as Minerva surrendered to it, she was fast asleep.

* * *

She was patrolling the corridors again. She knew there was no use, but she couldn't sleep in Albus' bed every night. Because this wasn't a temporary state of emergency anymore. It seemed this would become her new normal. Always looking over her shoulder, just a little. The Ministry still hadn't caught Northcroft, and by now Minerva suspected that they were quite incapable of doing so.

Most likely, it meant that Northcroft had fled the country, which was good as far as the safety of Hogwarts was concerned. But it left Minerva without closure. So patrolling the castle when she couldn't sleep was becoming a habit.

Tonight she was in her human form, which meant that she had one hand on her wand at all times. She was almost done with her usual round and was about to turn back when she heard a scream that made her blood curdle.

Minerva ran down the stairs and stopped dead. There he was, standing right in the middle of the Entrance Hall, and he had a student in a chokehold, his wand pressed against her temple. It was one of the Gryffindor first-years, the little sister of the Prewett brothers.

"Don't you dare hurt her!" Minerva hissed, trying to ban the fear from her voice.

Northcroft wasn't fooled. "Drop your wand!" he ordered her with a lewd grin.

He knew he had won. If she dropped her wand, she was dead. If she didn't drop it, little Molly was dead. It was an easy choice, and yet, Minerva really didn't want to die.

She lowered her wand, her hands shaking. Northcroft laughed. Green light flashed in front of her eyes.

And Minerva sat bolt upright in bed.

She blinked, shaken from her nightmare and confused because these were not her usual surroundings. This was not her bed.

Slowly, reality came rushing back in and Minerva took a deep breath. This dream, though, had felt disturbingly real. Perhaps it was an aftereffect of being sung to sleep by a phoenix. She looked around and saw that Fawkes was sleeping as well with his head tucked under his wing. If the phoenix was at peace, all had to be well, Minerva told herself.

Nevertheless, something made her rise from the bed. The sitting room was dark, but she could see a flicker of light from Albus' office.

He looked up from a book he was reading by candlelight when she entered. "Why are you up?" he asked. "I promise you there's no one in the castle who shouldn't be."

"In my dreams they are," Minerva confessed. "Which is proof that I did sleep."

"For a few hours," Albus said critically.

"That's more than you have. Why are _you_ still up?" she asked in return.

"You know I don't sleep much."

Minerva watched the light of the candle dance in the reflection of his half-moon spectacles. "Well, then either we both sleep or neither one of us does."

Albus closed his book with a thud. "That is completely illogical."

"Nothing about this feels very logical right now," Minerva admitted.

"All right," he conceded with a sigh. "I will try to catch some sleep on the sofa then."

"Don't be ridiculous." Minerva pulled him to his feet and back into the bedroom.

"Minerva?" For the first time, she caught a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.

It was oddly satisfying to have turned the tables on him. "I've tried to sit and read on that sofa. I don't want to hear you complain tomorrow about how you've thrown your back out," she explained while she sank back onto the bed.

It took a moment longer, but then she could feel the bed shift as Albus slowly lay down as well.

Minerva turned onto her side, resting her head on her elbow. "Why don't you let Fawkes sing you to sleep?" she asked quietly. "When you're lying awake, I mean. It worked wonders for me. For a while."

"He does that sometimes. But there are some aches that even a phoenix's magic can't soothe, so it doesn't always work."

"What does?"

Albus shifted to mirror her position. "I do not know."

"Perhaps you need what you offered me. Someone to be there," Minerva suggested.

"I offered that to make you feel safe. How does that work if we both sleep?"

"I guess it doesn't. But I refuse to give him that power over me. If I sit here and worry, he has already won," Minerva decided.

She could only see a hint of it in the dark, but she could hear the smile in Albus' voice. "I'm beginning to feel sorry for him if he ever does come for you."

His words brought a smile to Minerva's lips as well, but also a warning. "He nearly killed me the last time," she confessed. "By all rights, he should have. I was careless. I went in there without a wand!"

"When I went to face Gellert," Albus said after a pause, "there was a moment when I couldn't remember a single spell. It was like my heart had erased them all."

"What happened then?"

"Thankfully, I already had some practice in keeping my heart under lock and key, so my mind reasserted itself, and the rest is history."

"Don't say it like that," Minerva asked him. "Like it's just a page in a history book."

"It literally is," Albus pointed out.

Minerva shook her head. "Not to you, and not to me. I know what it took from you."

"Yes, you do," he acknowledged, his tone wondering, as if he didn't know how that had happened.

Well, neither did Minerva, truth be told.

"I still think you should sleep," Albus said into the silence.

"You first," Minerva replied.

He laughed softly. "Will you let me say something without sending another curse my way?"

"No promises."

"Fair enough," he chuckled, before his tone sobered. "I will not let him or anyone hurt you, Minerva."

She needed a moment to sift through her sudden rush of emotion that ranged from indignation to affection. "That is uncomfortably close to being overbearing, but I'll allow it, if you let me do the same."

Albus sighed. "I fear no one can fight my demons for me."

"Not for you, with you," Minerva corrected.

"How about you let me sleep on it?" he joked.

"Fine, but don't you dare run off in the night," she replied and shifted onto her other side to finally get a few more hours of sleep.

She wasn't sure if she was still awake or already dreaming when she thought she heard Albus respond, "Where would I run if not towards you?"


	36. Church Bells

**A/N: I feel like I'm repeating myself, but it bears repeating - thank you all for your wonderful reviews. You're amazing and you certainly don't have to worry about 'spamming'. I will never tire of hearing from you, especially at this stage in the story. I know you all have your own ideas of how Albus and Minerva should move from friendship to romance and I hope I can live up to some of them at least. **

* * *

**36\. Church Bells**

With only one eye on his morning newspaper, Albus reserved the other for Minerva. She had received a letter from home, and while those letters had never again contained news as devastating as in her first weeks as a Hogwarts professor, she was sometimes still moody afterwards.

Today, she seemed fine, and so Albus had just turned towards Horace to ask him to pass the milk when Minerva gasped. Not sure if he should ask, he nevertheless turned back around to her.

She met his gaze and said, "My brother is getting married."

"Which one?" Albus asked, both surprised and relieved that this was joyous news, at least in principle.

"Junior, I mean, Robert," she corrected herself. Perhaps she thought that a soon to be married man deserved to be called by his proper name.

"I wasn't aware that he was seeing someone." Naturally, all of Albus' information was only second-hand from bits and pieces Minerva had told him.

She looked just as stunned, however, as she read over the letter once more. "Neither did I. Apparently, he was visiting my parents when he met her."

"Is she from your village then or from somewhere in Caithness at least?"

"Not exactly. My mother writes that she's Mrs. Caraidland's great-niece and was only visiting, too. I didn't even know Mrs. Caraidland had family," Minerva said, her eyebrows rising steadily higher.

Albus searched his memory for the name. "Mrs. Caraidland is the neighbour with the nosy cat and the haggis bon-bons, isn't she?"

The astonished look on Minerva's face was joined by a crooked smile. "You've really been listening to me."

"I don't see why that statement warrants such a tone of surprise," Albus replied with a hint of indignation.

Minerva overlooked that. "Yes, Mrs. Caraidland is as known for her haggis as she is for being a busybody."

"She doesn't have magical kin, does she? Because then her trying to spy on you would take on a very different meaning."

"No, she's definitely a Muggle, and so is her great-niece, whom she personally introduced to Robert, apparently, and now they're getting married."

"That's fast," Albus noted.

"That's my brother," Minerva amended.

Albus hadn't been in touch with Robert in years, but rash decision-making did seem in character. "And your parents approve?"

"Approve?" Minerva snorted. "They are thrilled. They've been waiting to get one of us married for years."

She laughed, but the smile on her face quickly turned pensive. It wasn't hard to guess that this had to bring up memories for her, memories of her own less fortunate love story and intended nuptials. The similarities were indeed curious.

Albus reached over to lightly rest a hand on her arm. "I'm sure it will be a lovely celebration."

Minerva was quiet for a moment longer before she looked up at him. "Will you come?"

"Me?" Albus leaned back, caught off guard. "I very much doubt that I'm invited."

"With me," Minerva clarified impatiently. "Will you come with me?"

"I'm not sure your brother would like his former teacher to attend his wedding," Albus hedged.

Minerva's gaze didn't waver. "Please. I beg of you as a friend."

"That hardly seems fair as it would be impossible for me to say no to that," Albus pointed out, which clearly meant 'yes' in Minerva's book.

Her face lit up triumphantly. "All right then, it's a Muggle wedding, so you'll be needing a suit, or actually, a tuxedo would be preferable."

"Is that all?" Albus asked drily.

"Yes, I'll let you choose what kind of tie you want to wear."

"Oh, but you should really colour coordinate that with your dress, Minerva," Horace chimed in all of a sudden. "The two of you will look fabulous that way."

Albus looked from Horace to Minerva, not quite sure what had happened to his quiet morning. "Well, what dress are you going to wear?"

Minerva groaned. "Oh Lord, I need a dress."

It certainly looked that way because, apparently, they were going to a wedding.

* * *

"What's the verdict? Will I pass Mrs. Caraidland's muster?" Albus asked as he met Minerva in her office, so they could leave for the wedding together.

He was pretty sure that he looked Muggle-appropriate, but he was a little less certain when he felt Minerva's eyes on him. If anyone could point out a possible misstep on his part, it was her. Horace had offered his help in dressing him for the occasion. Albus had politely (but resolutely) declined.

He had decided to keep things simple, assuming he couldn't go wrong with a black tuxedo, low-cut vest and bowtie. The only concession to Horace's colour schemes he had made was a red handkerchief. More importantly, he had cut his hair and trimmed his beard, relieved to find no streaks of grey in it yet. It was a thought born of pure vanity, of course, but he was glad for it all the same. Especially when Minerva now reached up to stroke his beard with the back of her hand.

"Well, I definitely like it short," she said. "Makes you look sharp. And the only thing Mrs. Caraidland will have to say is whether you'd like to marry any other nieces or granddaughters she might have."

Albus chortled. "Oh dear, then perhaps I better wear something else."

"Oh no, you can't change now that we've just so successfully colour coordinated," Minerva joked at Horace's expense.

It turned out, though, that Albus could no longer argue with it, now that he saw the result. Then again, that Minerva's dark red off-shoulder dress matched his handkerchief wasn't nearly as pertinent as the fact that she looked beautiful in it. Or, he thought to himself with a wry smile, bewitching.

"Then I suppose we should get going," he said, offering her his arm.

She took it, but once her hand rested in the crook of his arm, she hesitated. "Would you mind making sure that we don't start a whole new set of rumours?"

Albus chuckled. The thought had occurred to him as well. He just didn't want to be the one to make her beauty today simply disappear. But upon her request, he now used his free hand to reach for his wand and shrouded them both in a powerful Disillusionment Charm.

That way, they left the castle and the school grounds before they Disapparated and reappeared in the woods near the church at a previously agreed upon Apparition point for all witches and wizards attending the wedding. The story, in case any of the Muggles asked where they had come from, was that Robert had booked a special shuttle service of some kind for guests from farther out.

It was a pleasantly warm day and the walk to the church wasn't long. As soon as they spotted other guests milling about, Minerva stiffened. Not for the first time, Albus wondered if she had asked him to come to run interference for her.

"He's not invited," Minerva said suddenly, quietly. "I asked."

"I see," Albus replied.

Either way, she had his support in whatever form she needed it.

Her brother stood on the front steps of the church, greeting his guests. Like most of the men in attendance, Robert was wearing a tartan kilt. It made Albus feel a little out of place in his tux. "Minerva! You made it! And you brought… Albus Dumbledore… to my wedding…" He shook his head, laughing. "Of course, you did! Hello again, Professor."

"Good day to you, Robert. And congratulations," Albus said.

"Thank you! Take seats wherever you like and you can leave your gifts in the foyer."

"I'm not sure you deserve gifts for not even telling me in person that you're getting married. Never mind properly introducing me to your bride," Minerva retorted.

Robert was clearly too happy to look chastised. "Sorry, sorry, everything happened so fast. I figured it was easier to let Mama tell you. And I knew you'd forgive me because you still owe me."

Minerva frowned. "For what?"

"Well, I was the one who first suggested that you should become a teacher, wasn't I?" Robert explained. "When you were nervous about having Career Advice with Professor Dumbledore?"

"Oh, I remember. I remember you calling me a teacher's pet."

Robert grinned. "You know, I would apologise, but you brought your boss to my wedding, so I'd say my statement still stands."

"He's not my…" Minerva faltered because as head of their department, technically, he was.

"I'm a friend," Albus offered instead.

"Okay, 'friends', come on in then and find your seats," Robert said, moving on to the next guests.

As they made their way inside the church, Minerva shook her head. "I'm sorry about that, Albus."

"When it comes to little brothers, I would never judge," he assured her. "And for what it's worth, a little good-natured ribbing seems by far preferable to no talking at all."

She gave him a sad smile before they joined her mother Isobel and her youngest brother Malcolm. Her father, of course, was getting ready to perform the service. As was to be expected of Reverend McGonagall, the ceremony started right on time as scheduled.

Albus had never been at a church wedding before. It was fascinating, really, to take in the happiness that radiated from the bride and groom, the solemn demeanour of the reverend as he prepared the two of them to become husband and wife, and the hushed excitement of the guests.

He was so busy observing the proceedings that he noticed too late that Minerva's hands were so cramped that they were turning white. She had her eyes trained on the happy couple like everyone else, but they were glassy and brimming with unshed, broken tears.

Albus was very sure that right now she wasn't truly sitting in this church at all. In her mind, she was standing where her brother now stood, claiming what was perhaps her right as eldest daughter of the family, namely to be the first to be wed by their father, and she was holding the hand of the man she had loved. Probably wondering if she really couldn't have made it work when clearly her brother had found a way to unite the best of both worlds. And perhaps asking God or anyone else who would listen why these wounds simply wouldn't heal.

He desperately wished that he could give her the answers she sought, today even more so than when she had first confided in him. But it seemed he was just as useless to her now as he had been then. So in lieu of that, Albus silently reached over to take her hand. Minerva flinched at first, needing a moment to find her way out of her dark musings and to return to the present. Then she shifted to hold his hand in her lap in both of hers, holding on as if to dear life.

Albus responded to her pressure with a gentle squeeze, offering whatever comfort his presence meant to her, because that at least, that he could do.

When the service ended, everyone stood and cheered. Minerva followed suit and let go of his hand. How she was feeling, Albus could not say, but at least her tears had not fallen.

The wedding party moved outside where food, drink and dance had been prepared on a meadow near the church.

It was now that Reverend McGonagall had the first opportunity to greet his daughter. "Minerva," was all he said as he embraced and kissed her, but it was all that was needed to convey his affections. "I'm so glad you could come."

"Of course, I came. You know I wouldn't miss Robert's wedding!"

"What I know is that we've barely gotten to see you these past few years," Robert Sr. said, his voice soft, but his reproach clear.

Minerva opened her mouth to defend herself and then closed it again.

Albus cleared his throat. "It's nice to see you again, Reverend McGonagall. It was a beautiful ceremony. Congratulations to you on your son's marriage."

"Thank you," the reverend replied, his eyes going from Minerva to Albus. "If you've enjoyed the service, then may I ask if you'll ever make an honest woman out of my daughter?"

Minerva choked on her glass of celebratory champagne, which gave Albus an excuse to pat her back and leave it to her to answer.

"Albus and I are just here as friends," she managed, her eyes watering.

"Well, good, I suppose you wouldn't want to marry an enemy. I think none of us are capable of taking the Bible quite that literally, though we could certainly use more love in the world," her father said. "Or do you disagree, Professor?"

"I do not, but I can assure you that your daughter doesn't need a man, certainly not me, to vouch for her integrity and honour," Albus replied.

"Thank you for saying that, but I'm afraid you won't understand what I'm saying unless you have children of your own, which I assume you don't?"

"No."

"Then how do you propose to bring more love into this world?" the reverend wanted to know.

"Robert! Will you come over here and finally introduce me to my sister-in-law?" Minerva called loudly, quite cleverly sparing Albus the need to answer her father's loaded questions.

The newlyweds followed her call and the newly minted Deborah McGonagall headed straight for Minerva with both of her hands outstretched. "Minerva, it's so good to meet you. I've heard a lot of great things about you from Robert."

"Have you now?" Minerva asked, looking sceptically at her brother.

"Of course, I wouldn't trust a man who talks ill of his big sister." As if to prove her point, she nodded in the direction of her family. They were standing nearby talking to Isobel. One of them was unmistakably her own younger brother.

Minerva smiled. "I like her," she told Robert.

He roared with laughter, perhaps a little too loudly. It was clear that he couldn't contain his joy, and no one would have expected him to. "I do, too. But we're being rude," he added, glancing at Albus. "Sorry, Professor. Debbie, this is Albus Dumbledore."

She turned towards him, her eyes widening. "Wait. _The_ Dumbledore?"

Albus arched an eyebrow. "That depends on what you've heard." He wasn't used to that reaction from Muggles. Usually, he only got blank stares. Truth be told, it made for a wonderful change.

But Robert had surely told his wife more than just stories of his childhood. "Well, it sounds to me like you're practically wizard royalty," she said.

Minerva snorted into her glass in mock disbelief.

"No, definitely not," Albus translated her non-verbal response. It was nice to know that he could always count on Minerva to make sure he kept his feet firmly on the ground.

Deborah looked as though she wanted to discuss that point further, but Minerva was faster, "So, what are you two going to do after your honeymoon?"

"Didn't Mama tell you?" Robert asked in return. "I'm opening a Defence Against the Dark Arts store in Diagon Alley."

"What?" Clearly, Isobel had not mentioned that to Minerva.

"I already made the down payment on the shop," Robert confirmed. "I discovered lots of interesting stuff during my travels and I've been experimenting with some of my own. And Debbie here is an artist, so she'll help me design everything."

"I have no idea how the magic works, obviously, but I figure the same rules apply when it comes to making things look good so people want to buy them," she added, exchanging a smile with her husband.

Minerva looked from one to the other. "You seem to be doing remarkably well with learning about the existence of magic."

Deborah laughed. "I'm getting there. Believe me, I spent a couple of hours in tears, thinking I had fallen in love with a crazy person when Robert first tried to tell me. But it got easier. He took me to your Ministry so we could get married officially, and it was very impressive and… well, magical, I guess. But essentially, it's still the same as any normal registry office. You just get things done a lot faster by using magic," she said. "I am a little jealous of that. I take it, there's really no chance that I have any magic in me that I could learn?" she asked, looking at Albus.

"I'm afraid not," he told her as kindly as he could.

She shrugged. "But our children will be wizards, yes?"

Robert wrapped an arm around her. "Woah, hold on there, Debbie. We haven't even gotten to the wedding night yet."

"Oh, shush, Robert! I'm talking to Mr. Dumbledore," she told him off.

"It is very likely that your children will be capable of magic, yes," Albus confirmed.

"But you could tell us, right? You have that… that book at your school? So you could let us know right away?"

Albus glanced at Minerva for some assistance, but she said, "That sounds like a question for the deputy headmaster to me. I will get something new to drink. I think I'm done with champagne."

And she just left him there with her sister-in-law who looked like she had a lot more questions ready.

* * *

After she had gotten rid of her half-empty champagne glass, Minerva bypassed the refreshment table and headed further away from the rest of the reception. At first, she thought she was just looking for a quiet spot to clear her head, but she quickly recognised the path her feet were taking on their own accord, using an old shortcut through the woods. She only stopped when she could see it. Down below, by the bottom of the hill.

The McGregors' farm.

She wasn't about to go down there, she just wanted to see it. The farmhouse was bigger than she remembered, and there were at least two new stables and an additional pasture. Not all of the moving dots Minerva could see from here were cows, though. If she strained her ears, she could hear dogs barking and children laughing. It seemed Dougal had taken his father's legacy and made it even better.

Her heart was heavy, but she was happy for him. She truly was. He deserved it. He deserved the very best that life had to offer and that did no longer include her. Which also meant that she had no right to spy on him. She knew that, but it was still hard to let go and to turn around again. It took some time until her feet were willing to do what the rest of her was trying valiantly to accept.

When Minerva finally did turn back, she did so in a hurry, so that hopefully no one at the reception would have noticed her little detour.

"I knew you had to come back home eventually."

She froze when a dark figure stepped out from behind the trees to her right. It was as though she had fallen into one of her nightmares when she had least expected it.

It was Eion Northcroft, whom she had almost managed to forget entirely. She certainly hadn't wasted a thought on him today. Which looked like the last mistake she would ever make. It wasn't just Northcroft's eyes that glittered maliciously, he was also twirling his wand, or the wand he had stolen from someone, between his fingers.

And Minerva didn't have hers.

This stupid sheath dress she was wearing might cut a fine figure, but it left no room for anything, not even a wand. So she had given it to Albus, whose tuxedo had pockets at least, and she hadn't anticipated that they would get separated. Also, she hadn't thought that she would actually need it.

Which left Minerva with only one option. She transformed, shrinking into her Tabby cat self within seconds. Just as quickly, she realised that she had nowhere to go because if she ran back towards the reception, she would lead Northcroft right to her family. If she went the other way, she would put Dougal and his family in danger. So Minerva didn't run at all.

She jumped.

Northcroft wasn't surprised by her transformation this time, but his aim still wasn't good enough for his curse to hit her before Minerva hit him. With her claws fully extended, she landed in his face and dug her paws into his cheeks and throat, scratching and screeching.

Northcroft yelled in pain, but he managed to seize her by the scruff of her neck and with a bellow of rage, he flung her away from him. Even Minerva's cat senses didn't know where up and down was until she hit the trunk of a tree and dropped to the forest floor. She jumped back up, but now Northcroft was faster. A fine-meshed net landed on top of her and pinned her to the ground.

Bleeding and seething, Northcroft appeared over her. Minerva could have tried to break the net by changing back into a human, but as things stood, it didn't seem to matter in which form she chose to die. Northcroft didn't immediately point his wand at her, he kicked her first. In the side, in the face. Her feline body was resilient, but not unbreakable.

He stopped, managing to rein in his anger. "You know, I think I like your size better this way. Makes it easier for me to take you away from here while I decide what to do with you. We wouldn't want anyone to come looking for you."

"Too late."

Minerva's heart leapt when she heard that intimately familiar voice. It was shaking with cold fury, but it was still unmistakable.

Northcroft clearly recognised the owner of that voice as well and made the only smart decision. He twisted on the spot and Disapparated.

There was a loud bang, a scream and then Northcroft reappeared, stumbling to the ground. When he realised that Albus' Anti-Disapparition-Jinx stopped him from leaving by magical means, Northcroft tried running.

A fiery bird erupted from the tip of Albus' wand, opened its beak with a terrifying shriek and swallowed Northcroft whole, engulfing him in a ball of flames. At first, there was nothing but Northcroft's muffled cries. Then a feeble jet of water shot out of his wand, but it only managed to shrink the flames to the size of blistering ropes that wrapped themselves around his body and then tightened until he keeled over and landed face first in the dirt. Mercifully, it also cut off his howling.

Leaving Northcroft where he had fallen, Albus hurried over to her. "Minerva," he said urgently as he knelt and made the net on top of her disappear. "Can you change back?"

She took a deep breath, focused on her human self and cried out in pain. She had never transformed while being injured before. It was not pleasant.

Albus' eyes roamed over her in concern. "I'm taking you to St. Mungo's."

"No!" she breathed and hissed when that hurt, too. "I think it's just a broken rib. You can fix that."

"Minerva, let me get you professional help."

"No, just get me back to my brother's wedding."

Albus' brow furrowed. "You're not serious."

"Do I not look serious? It's bad enough that he got the jump on me. I won't let him ruin my brother's big day," Minerva insisted. Certainly not after several members of her family had already berated her for making herself so scarce in recent years. "Please, Albus. Just do it."

He looked at her for a long moment before he gave in with a sigh. Minerva tried not to wince when he ran his hands over her chest and stomach, gently probing for that broken rib. It was easy enough to find. At the touch of Albus' wand, a searing heat shot through her and then Minerva could breathe easily again.

She wanted to move, but Albus surprised her by cupping her cheek with his hand. Her confusion at his touch cleared when he raised his wand again and healed a cut over her right eye and a bruise underneath it that she hadn't been able to see. Then he helped her back to her feet. She wasn't one hundred percent, but it was good enough.

"Wand, please," she said.

Wordlessly, Albus handed it to her.

Minerva walked over to Northcroft and flipped him onto his back. He was red in the face from the heat of Albus' glowing chains. Minerva could feel their power just by standing close to him. He also coughed up dirt. Once his mouth was free, he wanted to spew forth demands and insults, but Minerva silenced him.

"Our Minister wants to start a Dementor breeding programme," she told him. "He will probably be forced out of office before that ever happens, but in case he does succeed, you will be the first to know because I can promise you that you will never leave Azkaban ever again."

Having said that, she turned back towards Albus. "Tell Elphinstone I will give him my statement after my brother's wedding. He won't like it, but…"

"I will explain the situation to him," Albus nodded.

"Good, and then come back here when you're done."

"Minerva, I don't know how long…"

She shook her head, not letting him finish. "Just get rid of him and come back, Albus. Unless you want to explain to my father why you ditched me."

It wasn't enough to make Albus smile, but at least he agreed. "I will be back when I can."

Turning to leave, Minerva stopped one more time. "Oh, and… thank you for coming after me."

Albus held her gaze for a heartbeat before he said, "Of everything I have ever done, this might be the least worthy of your thanks. It was entirely selfish and very nearly too late."

"Or it was just the opposite," Minerva replied with a small smile before she truly started on her way back.

Thankfully, she remembered to clean her dress from the dirt stains that would have given her away. She could do nothing about her hair, though. The braid it had been in before her transformation had taken her an hour to do this morning, so she simply left it open now. She doubted that anyone would ask.

Pretending as though nothing had happened still wouldn't be easy. She couldn't stop thinking about Northcroft. Mostly good thoughts, though. After all, the knowledge that he was free had weighed on her for weeks. Now that chapter from her past was firmly closed again. It made her realise how much her life had changed since his first arrest. How much she had changed.

Northcroft wasn't the only chapter that might be closing. Yes, it had hurt to watch her brother's whirlwind romance culminate in a beautiful wedding in their father's church, despite the fact that he and his wife came from different worlds. But Minerva had finally understood that being reminded of Dougal would always hurt because she would probably always love him.

Perhaps it was because the first love was the deepest or because he had taken something from her – a different Minerva, a different life that could have been but never was. Either way, she had also understood something else. That she was hurting like this meant that at least she was still feeling, still wanting.

And she wanted more than just the memory of love.

* * *

Minerva's temporary absence, followed by Albus' disappearance, did raise a couple of questions. But mostly, people had other more pleasant things to talk about. Minerva got the chance to recover from her ordeal and to get to know her new sister-in-law when they sat at a table together, just the two of them. They talked for quite a while – until somebody else demanded the bride's attention.

Later in the evening, Albus returned. Minerva had tried not to think about Northcroft too much so she could focus on her brother's wedding, but she did want to know how it had gone at the Ministry. She couldn't ask, though, because her family was sitting nearby. Eventually, she got her chance when the dancing started and everyone else had left the table.

"So?" she prompted Albus.

"He's back in Azkaban," he informed her.

Minerva frowned. "You mean he's on his way back to Azkaban?"

"No, I mean he's back in Azkaban," Albus repeated.

She sighed when she realised what he was saying. "You didn't have to bring him in person, you know."

"Yes, I really did."

"Nothing about this is your fault, Albus. He came after me because I was the one who arrested him. You weren't even involved," Minerva said, leaning in closer so no one would hear her urgent whisper.

Not even Albus seemed to hear her, not really. "I promised you…"

"I thought we've been over this," she cut him off. "You can't promise to protect me unless you let me do the same…"

Suddenly Albus stood, and for a moment, Minerva thought he would walk away, but then he held out a hand. "May I have this dance?"

Startled, Minerva couldn't react right away. "What?"

"You seem to be feeling like yourself again, and we're at a wedding. So I believe I owe you at least one dance," Albus said, still holding out his hand to her.

It was a thinly veiled excuse to end their conversation. But to say that he looked magnificent in that tuxedo would have been an understatement, so Minerva wasn't about to deny him anything.

She had been asked to dance before and she had never really wanted to. Now she realised that the problem wasn't that she didn't like dancing. She just needed to trust the man she was dancing with. After all, she was supposed to let him take the lead, which was not her strong suit. But it was different with Albus.

Mindful of her lingering injuries, he held her so gently and at the same time so securely in his arms that Minerva's resistance to letting him take care of her melted slowly but steadily. They swayed to the music and it was the easiest thing in the world not to think of Northcroft anymore. At least for Minerva, but the twinkle that had returned to Albus' eyes suggested he felt the same way.

She was almost sure of it when he said, "You forgot to fix your hair." It was such a silly thing to say.

"I didn't forget. I didn't have time," she replied.

"I like it open. Makes you look glamorous," he echoed her words to him from this morning and he lifted his hand from her back to brush a strand of hair out of her face and back behind her ear.

Suddenly Minerva felt something she thought had died a long time ago. Her heart fluttered. Just for a moment. And then it throbbed in a steady, exhilarated, familiar pace, clamouring to be heard.

"Well, don't get used to it. There aren't a lot of dances at Hogwarts," she said.

"I'm sure Horace would have an idea how to remedy that," Albus suggested.

"That sounds like a potential out-of-the-frying-pan-into-the-fire situation."

He chuckled. "Very true."

"Not that you have anything to fear from fire. Clearly." Minerva shuddered a little when she thought of the rage that had fuelled his spell from earlier.

"I didn't mean to frighten you," Albus said cautiously.

"Frighten me? By doing incredible magic?" Minerva just gave him a look. "That's not how you frighten me."

"How else then?"

"By insisting to always put everything on your shoulders."

"They are used to it."

"They shouldn't be. You need to learn how to share, _Your Majesty."_

Albus looked confused for a second before he remembered Debbie's comment about him being royalty. "You thought that was funny, did you?"

"Immensely," she snickered.

"Careful. Offending a reigning sovereign was once a serious crime," he warned her.

"I'm not worried."

"And why's that?"

"Because I know how you play chess and you don't execute people, not pawns and certainly not your queen."

"Because a king without his queen makes for a very poor king."

"In chess or in life?"

"Both."

"Albus?" Minerva lifted her eyes to his.

His eyes were already on her. "Yes?"

"Thank you for coming with me today. And I don't mean for saving my life, but for all the rest of it, for this," she said.

"I already told you there is no need to thank me," he replied as he pulled her closer to prevent a collision with a couple that was dancing a lot more enthusiastically (and probably inebriated).

Albus and Minerva were only moving in very small circles now, so she just wrapped her arms around his neck. "Is that your way of saying that you've enjoyed coming with me today?"

"That was never in any doubt. It was merely a question of finding the time to get away from work," he said, lacing his hands together behind her lower back.

"I'm sure it'll still be there waiting for you tomorrow. And it's getting late, so we should probably leave," Minerva said, though she didn't make a move to let go.

"Probably," Albus agreed, also not moving.

"Or," Minerva said and dropped her head onto his shoulder to let it rest there, "we could stay right here."

And so they danced.

At some time in the night, they returned to Hogwarts. The entire castle was asleep, so there was no more need for Disillusionment Charms. Albus walked Minerva all the way back to her office.

"Well, you've personally made sure that it's perfectly safe again," she said as she entered.

"The only reason you needed me to was because you didn't have this," Albus replied, following her inside, and he handed her back her wand.

After Northcroft's attack Minerva had vowed never to go without it again, but then she hadn't known what to do with it during their dance, so she had let Albus keep it for her once more. After all, she had been in his arms, so it wasn't as if it was out of her reach.

"Yes, I suppose the dress should have come with a warning that it's utter rubbish when you're being chased by a dark wizard," Minerva quipped.

"It has other qualities," Albus said, his voice low, making Minerva feel hot and cold at the same time.

She stepped towards him to straighten his crooked tie, though it no longer mattered. She just wanted to take one last look at him dressed up like this. "I don't think you should get rid of the tux either."

"Are you anticipating another wedding? Your other brother, perhaps?" Albus asked with a teasing smile.

"I wouldn't mind as long as I could persuade you to come with me again." Minerva looked up from his now fixed tie, miscalculating how close that brought her to his face.

She could practically feel Albus' breath on her cheek when he said, "We probably shouldn't jinx your brother and only plan as far ahead as calling it a night."

While Minerva didn't believe in jinxes of that sort, she couldn't deny that she needed sleep. But she was sad to let this day end, as bittersweet as it had been.

"Albus, do you believe that we all have room for more than one great love in our lives?" she asked quietly.

"I think," he said slowly, "sometimes we don't even have a choice in the matter."

Perhaps that was a good thing since Minerva had a tendency to choose wrong. For now, she chose to tilt her head up a little more at the same time that Albus brought his down to hers.

But only so he could softly press his lips to her cheek. "Have a good night then. I'm very glad that you are unhurt, and I hope that you will rest easy tonight."

"What else could I be after you worked your magic on me?" she said with a sigh. He had fused her bones and mended her skin and what he had done to her heart she couldn't quite say.

If Albus knew, all he said was, "Sweet dreams, Minerva."


	37. Fatal Flaw

**37\. Fatal Flaw**

"I'm so glad we finally get to do this." Elphinstone smiled broadly at her over the colourful cup of tea in his hand.

"I'm just not sure why you wanted to go to Madam Puddifoot's of all places," Minerva said, eyeing the lacy napkins and frilly decorations of the small tea shop.

Elphinstone shrugged. "I just remembered that it was cosy."

That was one word for it. Minerva would have gone with tacky.

"But we can go to the Three Broomsticks if you'd feel more comfortable there," Elphinstone offered with an almost anxious look on his face.

"No, it's fine." They had already been served their tea after all. "I'm just here to see you. I can come down to Hogsmeade every day."

"Right you are. Isn't that a dream come true?"

"I wouldn't go quite that far," Minerva said. "But it's nice."

"Well, I love it here," Elphinstone exclaimed.

His enthusiasm made Minerva laugh. "Then why did it take you six years to actually come and visit me other than to tell me that a murderer was looking for me?"

"I don't know. I guess I'm a workaholic. And you would know a thing or two about that, if I recall correctly." Elphinstone winked at her. "But from now on, things are going to change."

"How so?" Minerva asked curiously.

"With Ignatius forced from office and Nobby Leach taking over, I hope that things at the Ministry will settle down somewhat."

"Is that likely? After Malfoy already led one public protest against Leach's appointment?"

Nobby Leach was the first Muggle-born Minister for Magic they had ever had in Britain, which Minerva wholeheartedly approved of. But small-minded and mean-spirited people like Abraxas Malfoy strongly disagreed. Thankfully, Malfoy's opinion wasn't as important as he liked to think. It certainly didn't carry more weight than Albus' voice, and he had chosen to speak out in support of Leach to put an end to the debate surrounding his appointment. None of that sounded to Minerva as though their new Minister could expect smooth sailing.

"There will always be haters, I suppose. But if Leach does a good job, then reasonable people will tire of dragging up his ancestry. And I have a good feeling about Leach," Elphinstone explained. "Either way, I've been thinking that it might be time to cut back a little. Or a lot."

Minerva's brow furrowed. "Are you talking about retirement?"

"Possibly, yes," Elphinstone affirmed. "If I can find a suitable replacement."

"Elphinstone, I'm not coming back to the Ministry," Minerva said quickly, thinking that might be why he had wanted to meet like this.

But he only laughed. "Oh no, I wouldn't dream of trying to steal you away from Hogwarts. I can tell that you're happy here."

He had phrased it like a statement, not a question, but he still seemed to wait for confirmation. So Minerva nodded. "Yes, I am."

That much she could say without a shred of doubt.

"Wonderful," Elphinstone beamed. "Then perhaps I can come visit you more often from now on."

"Sure, I know you always wanted to come to Scotland to travel and to improve your fake accent," Minerva replied with a wry grin at the memory.

"Oh yes, I will definitely do that. Maybe you'd like to come with me? In the summer holidays?"

"Oh, well, I…"

"Actually, no, don't answer that," Elphinstone cut her off. "Because that's not what I truly wanted to ask you."

Confused, Minerva set down her tea. "What did you want to ask me then?"

Elphinstone smiled at her, but there was that nervous twitch again. "Truth be told, I do have an ulterior motive in coming here today, and it's not asking you to take my job or to go travelling with me, though you can certainly do all those things because you can do whatever it is you want to do. But I very much hope you would consider doing them as my wife."

Minerva's mouth literally fell open, too stunned to utter a single syllable, much less form a coherent response.

It seemed that Elphinstone hadn't expected her to. He looked relieved to be able to explain. "I know this will sound crazy because we haven't spent nearly as much time together as I would have hoped. And I'm not saying we should do it tomorrow. We could be engaged for as long as you like. But I want to be honest with you from the beginning and let you know that I do want to marry you. I think I've always wanted to marry you," he admitted with a self-deprecating grin.

"I'm at a point in my life where I don't have any more time to lose, no time to wait. So I need to tell you that I think you're the most gifted, courageous and bloody brilliant woman I have ever met or will ever meet. Maybe I'm making a fool of myself right now, but I would definitely be a fool if I didn't at least try to ask for your hand in marriage."

Minerva couldn't help herself. She glanced at the other tables in the shop and was oh so glad that this wasn't an official Hogsmeade weekend for Hogwarts students. This was the last thing she needed any of them to hear or witness. She was afraid that her face alone would be sufficient to betray her embarrassment.

"Elphinstone…" she began, not really sure how to continue. "I'm flattered, but…"

"No, don't just brush me off," he said quickly, reaching across the table to take her hand. "Just think about it. I promise you, I haven't lost my mind. I have thought about this. Like I said, I think I'm ready to retire soon, and I could purchase a cottage right here in Hogsmeade, so you could still go to work every day and you would never be far from your students. I wouldn't even expect you to take my name if you don't want to. You could still be Professor McGonagall to your students. Urquart really isn't a very nice name, pure-blood or not."

He lifted his other hand, too, so he could now hold hers in both of his. "So really, all I'm asking you is to let me love you. Officially, I mean, because I can promise you that I already do."

Minerva's mind was racing, but in truth, all her thoughts were just going in circles, like her brain had short-circuited. Never in a million years had she seen this coming. Or so she thought.

Suddenly she wasn't quite so sure anymore.

She wasn't sure about anything.

Except, she definitely needed something stronger than tea.

* * *

Busy scanning the newspaper for more signs of trouble Abraxas Malfoy or his like-minded, pure-blooded associates might have stirred up, Albus was caught by surprise when Minerva came bursting into his office without bothering to knock first.

"Albus, did I leave the schedule for the sixth-year's Apparition lessons on your desk?" she asked.

"No, I don't think you did," Albus replied, lowering his newspaper. "How was your Hogsmeade visit?"

"Fine, fine," Minerva said distractedly.

Curiously, Albus watched her as she started turning things over on his desk. "Are you sure that it was… fine?"

"I just said that, didn't I?" she snapped.

"I know you did, but the fact that you're waging war on my desk seems to suggest otherwise."

Minerva paused with a scroll of parchment in one hand and a bottle of ink in the other. "Oh." She put everything back down. "Well, somebody needed to clean up this mess anyway."

"I don't doubt that," Albus agreed because it seemed the safest thing to do. "What happened?" he then prodded her gently. "Didn't you meet with Elphinstone?"

She made an odd noise, something between a snort and a laugh. "Oh, I did."

"And did you not have a good time?" Albus was fishing for anything more to go on.

"That depends," Minerva answered rather unhelpfully.

"On what?"

She perched on the edge of his desk. "Well, somewhere between buying crystallised pineapple at Honeydukes and drinking tea at Madam Puddifoot's, he proposed marriage."

Albus leaned forward in his chair, throwing his newspaper back onto the desk. "I'm sorry. He did what?" he asked, his voice sharper than he had intended it to be.

"See," Minerva said, pushing off his desk, "that is an appropriate reaction." And without another word, she just left his office again.

Blinking, Albus stared at the door she had closed behind her. What exactly had just happened here?

He tried to go back to reading his newspaper for all of five minutes. Then he stood, rummaged for some Floo Powder and threw it into the fire. The fireplaces in Hogwarts weren't connected to the outside Floo Network, but they were connected with each other. Albus had never found much use for that – until now.

"I know people accuse me of being enigmatic sometimes, but even I know that's no way to end a conversation," he said as he stepped out of the fireplace in Minerva's office.

She glared at him. He supposed it would have been more polite to walk to her office and knock, but she was forcing his hand right now.

"Why?" she asked. "You didn't look as though you had anything useful to say."

"Because it matters very little what I have to say. I think the important question here is what you said?" Albus pointed out. "As far as I'm aware, proposals require answers."

Minerva turned away from him, her arms crossed. "I didn't say anything. He told me to take time to think about it."

"And are you?" Albus pressed.

"There's nothing to think about. And even if I wanted to, I wouldn't know how with you hovering like this," she shot back, still determinedly looking out the window.

Even with her back turned to him, Albus could see the tension in the stiff way she held herself. He wanted to go to her, but it was clear that she didn't want him to. "Nothing would be further from my mind than to force my companionship on you, Minerva, but you did choose to tell me about this."

"Then tell me, Albus," she said, turning back around to face him. "Share your infinite wisdom with me and tell me what I should do."

"I couldn't possibly do that," he replied, forcing his voice to remain calm. He recognised that tone from Minerva. She was about to become unreasonable.

Her eyes hardened. "Then you're of absolutely no use to me, are you?"

"No, I suppose I'm not," Albus said coolly.

Despite the prickly state Minerva was in, he didn't want to leave her. But her dismissal couldn't have been clearer.

"I won't bother you again," he said and headed for the door.

"Albus," Minerva called him back when he had just reached for the doorknob. "I didn't mean that."

He turned around but stayed by the door. "You have every right to think about this in peace," he told her.

She gave up her defensive stance by the window and dropped into one of the armchairs by the fireplace. "Actually, I would prefer not to think about it at all."

Albus cocked his head. "I don't see how that will help you to make a decision."

Minerva forced a humourless laugh. "There is no decision here, Albus. The whole thing is preposterous. Surely you see that, too."

"No, I don't. Why would it be preposterous that someone wants to marry you?" Albus asked honestly. In all of this, Elphinstone's reasons were the easiest for him to understand. "Whether you want to marry them is a different story."

Minerva's head snapped back up and she looked at him searchingly as though the answer might be written on his face.

"What I want," she said slowly, "is not to talk about this anymore. So you can either stay and help distract me or you can leave." She pointed towards the chessboard on the table in front of her.

Albus hesitated, not sure if to continue under what could only be called false pretences was the right thing to do. But he did not want to leave, and now she was asking him to stay. So he sat in his usual chair and let her make the opening move.

It didn't take long until one of her knights took one of his bishops. When Albus reached out to remove the destroyed piece from the board, Minerva also leaned forward to grab his hand.

"Will you stop it?" she asked.

"You said you wanted to play," he replied, confused.

"No, I mean, will you let this proposal go?" she clarified.

"I didn't say anything."

"But I can practically hear you think about it," she accused him.

He couldn't deny that as it would have been more than just a pretence. It would have been a lie. "I just wasn't prepared for this," he confessed.

Minerva snorted. "You weren't prepared? Why would you need to? He proposed to me. You had nothing to do with it."

Albus looked from their joined hands on top of the broken chess piece into her emerald eyes. Suddenly he was so tired of not telling her the truth.

"I do not claim and have no intention of ever claiming any part of you to be mine. But it seems that I cannot bear the thought of you being someone else's."

Minerva stared at him, unmoving, unblinking, as though she had been frozen in place. "So, what you're telling me," she said eventually, struggling to keep her voice even, "is that you don't want me, but you don't want me to be with someone else either?"

"Alas, yes, that is what I'm saying," Albus nodded, fully aware that it wasn't fair of him to do so. To singlehandedly disturb, if not destroy the equilibrium between them. He had never meant to do that. But even if Minerva stubbornly refused to see it, he was a selfish, selfish man.

She let go of his hand and sat back as if he had slapped her. "Bloody hell, Albus! What am I supposed to do with that?"

"That I do not know," he admitted. "I believe I told you that I'm not as good a man as everyone likes to pretend."

"Do you think I care what everyone else thinks?" Minerva burst out. She stood and hit the table with the chessboard, making the pieces run for cover. "What about what I think? What I want? Does that matter to you at all?"

"You know it does," Albus said, rising more slowly. "There is very little that matters more to me than that."

"Clearly that's not true because you just told me that I get no say in the matter!" Minerva raged.

He held up a hand, though he knew that would do nothing to appease her. "That is not what I said. It is still very much your decision whether you wish to marry Elphinstone Urquart."

"But you don't want me to," she challenged him.

"No, I can't honestly say that I do."

As expected, that didn't placate her, rather the opposite. "So you want me to play chess with you for the rest of my life?"

"Honestly, Minerva, you were the one who wanted to play chess," Albus tried to defend himself.

"Well, I don't want to play chess anymore."

"That is entirely up to you."

"Will you stop saying that I have a right to choose when you've already taken away the only choice I could possibly want to make?" she demanded, her eyes flashing.

Albus paused, not because of her anger, but because of what she was saying. Apparently, he had missed the moment when she had moved on from Dougal. It might have been after her brother's wedding, but he hadn't been certain with everything that had happened that day. Or he hadn't wanted to be certain.

Because he wasn't just selfish. He was also a coward. Her broken heart had allowed him to rest easy for the longest time. To tell himself that what she needed him to be was a good friend to her. And now that she had mended her heart as best as she could, he refused to be the one to break it all over again.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "Sometimes what seems like the easiest choice, perhaps even the only choice, is in fact far from the right one."

"Or maybe," Minerva replied, taking a step towards him, "you're just too bloody determined to always choose the hard way."

He gave her a wan smile. "That might very well be one of my many faults, but it's certainly not my worst one."

"No, your fatal flaw is that you think too much," she said, fixing him with a piercing glare.

If she was daring him to look away, he wouldn't. There was no more point in denying that he had come to rely far too much on seeing that fierce light in the rich green depth of her eyes.

"Then I guess the question is if you can accept me this way." He said it plainly, matter-of-factly, as if it wouldn't destroy him if she said no.

"You know, for someone who thinks that he doesn't deserve anything, you can have an air of entitlement that is baffling to me," Minerva replied, but she didn't say it in anger. It had subsided as quickly as it had flared up, leaving behind a desolation that was not to Albus' liking either.

But he consoled himself with knowing that while he was asking for a lot, he could have been asking her for so much more. "Perhaps you really should take that time to think then."

"Perhaps," she nodded.

He wanted to say more, but there was simply nothing left for him to say. Just a few minutes ago, he had been in such a hurry to get to her office. Now, Albus took the opposite approach in leaving it.

* * *

**A/N: Okay, please don't hate me. I know this isn't a very cheerful way to leave things. But there's some stuff my family and I need to deal with, so I'll be gone for a week and may not be able to post another chapter until the week after. But I will be back. Promise. Until then, thank you for your reviews, they are really helping me so much. And don't worry. I won't be offended if you give me your honest opinion on my writing. Though I will say that positive reviews make me write just a little faster, of course. :)**


	38. Vows Unspoken

**A/N: First of all, thank you for all your well-wishes on top of the wonderful reviews! I really appreciate the support. My family is doing okay, and writing always helps. So that's what I did, and I'm happy to be back with the next chapter. Only, I'm super nervous about sharing this one. I'm not sure if you'll love it or hate it. Well, I'll let you find out and tell me - if you like. **

* * *

**38\. Vows Unspoken**

This was far from the first time in Minerva's life that she and Albus were not exactly on speaking terms, other than to discuss vital school business. But it might have been the most confusing. Neither one of them actually wanted to be apart, except that was exactly what they were fighting about.

The longer she tried to figure out what it was she really wanted, the more Minerva grew weary of arguing. Albus would laugh in her face for saying that, but she was getting older, too, and she didn't know if she wanted everything to be a never-ending struggle. What if she would simply run out of air eventually? And why would she risk that when there was a man who wanted to give her everything without a fight? With every passing day, it became harder to explain her hesitation, even to herself.

Albus seemed to grow just as weary of it as she felt. Whatever the exact nature of their relationship was, staying away was not the answer.

After they had discussed a couple of student-related incidents in his office a couple of days later, he asked, "Would you perhaps like to stay for a cup of tea?"

Minerva looked up in surprise, but she nodded before she could even properly think about it. "Yes, I'd like that," she accepted his peace offering.

Relieved, Albus rose from behind his desk and indicated that they should settle in the more comfortable chairs by the fire.

"But you should know," Minerva said cautiously while she sat down, "that I have decided to marry Elphinstone."

Albus paused while pouring the tea. "I hope things between us aren't so bad that we need jokes to break the ice."

"I'm serious, Albus."

He set down the teapot with an audible thud. "You can't be."

Minerva met his gaze squarely. "Try me."

"You said yourself that it was a ridiculous notion," Albus reminded her.

"Well, I did what you told me to do. I've thought about it, and it's really not. He's a smart and very kind man and we have a great many things in common. Really, I've known that he was in love with me for years now," she admitted.

"Still, you never even wanted to marry."

"You know that's not true. I did want to marry. Once. And then I thought I couldn't. But I… I need something, Albus. Dougal can't have all of my heart forever. So if Elphinstone wants to have what's left…" her voice trailed off.

"But you don't love him." He said it without question or hesitation. It made her mad that Albus knew that. That they both knew it. And yet, it didn't seem to make a difference.

"Maybe I don't. But the men in my life that I have loved, I cannot have. So it seems perfectly obvious that I'm not meant to find true love," she said pointedly. "And I'm beginning to think it might be safer that way. You of all people should understand that."

Her words resulted in a silence so thick with tension that she could have sliced it up with a knife.

"Don't start holding back now, Albus," Minerva said when she thought she might be suffocating soon. "Clearly, you have more to say."

"Only that the Minerva I used to know would have never settled for second best."

She had thought that she could stomach whatever Albus had to say at this point, but she was wrong. How dare he belittle her for a choice he had forced upon her? Trembling with anger, Minerva stood up.

"Maybe I just finally learned that settling is better than being alone for the rest of my life!" she hissed and stormed towards the door.

"You are not alone, Minerva," Albus said before she could reach it. He was back on his feet, and for once, he had abandoned his usual composed manner. But the newfound urgency in his voice didn't help her either.

"No? How so? Have you changed your mind? Are you going to marry me?" she asked with a humourless laugh.

He took a step forward, but then stopped. "No," he said simply.

"Well then, what would you have me do, Albus? Tell me! Give me one good reason why I shouldn't marry a man who has loved me for years and who wants to grow old with me and give me virtually everything I could ever wa…"

She never got to finish her sentence. In one swift motion, Albus had crossed the remaining distance between them, took her face in his hands and sealed her lips with his own. Caught off guard by the intensity of his momentum, Minerva stumbled backwards against the closed door behind her.

With her back pressed against the cool wood, Minerva regained her footing, but Albus wouldn't have let her fall either way. Even if he had, she was way past caring. As soon as she recovered from the initial shock, she reached out to bury her hand in his hair while the other scraped the back of his neck, just to make sure he wouldn't dream of letting go again.

She needn't have worried. In response to the gentle pull of her hands, Albus' kiss only got more demanding, parting her lips, covering her mouth as completely as he had pinned her to the wall with his whole body.

Wherever his lips touched her, her skin was aflame. His kisses burned. Burned like phoenix fire.

Minerva hadn't been kissed like this since Dougal, or perhaps never. She had been so young then. In love with being in love. This was different. This was a love between two adults who, despite their best efforts to the contrary, had become so attuned to one another that they were now the very air they needed to breathe.

That they were now literally sharing one breath was the only unthinkable and yet inevitable conclusion.

Eventually, when at long last the need for real oxygen overpowered the need for each other, Albus released her lips and rested his forehead against hers. "I'm sorry," he said, breathing heavily. "I shouldn't have done that."

Minerva's lips felt too swollen to talk, but this was more important. "Yes, you should have. You deserve to take what you want."

He brushed a strand of her hair that had come loose back behind her ear. Then he let that hand trail down her cheek and her neck all the way to her heart. It was beating so desperately against her ribcage as if it was trying to burst forth from her chest so he could literally hold it in the palm of his hand.

"Taking what I want has never worked out well for me," Albus said with rueful smile.

"Then it's a good thing that I always get what I want," Minerva replied, pushing off the wall closer to him, though there wasn't much space left between them. In fact, she could already feel the hardness of his body press into her.

"You have a very worrisome tendency to choose that which is most dangerous to you," he pointed out, but his hand drifted a little lower, cupping her breast.

Heat pulsed between her legs with an intensity that made it increasingly hard to think. "I'm a grown woman, Albus. I can handle whatever it is you think you could do to me."

"Are you sure about that?" he asked, bunching up her robes and somehow finding a way to slip his hand inside.

"For the love of God, Albus!" Minerva hissed. "Will you stop talking?"

He chuckled, but it turned into more of a growl when she moved up against him very deliberately. His lips crashed down on hers again. At the same time, he began to pull her away from the door with one hand and fumbled for his wand with the other. When he had sealed the door, they staggered through the portrait into his sitting room, turning in circles as though in a state of intoxication.

Which wasn't far from the truth. They were drunk, drunk on each other and the sweetness they captured from each other's lips. They stumbled over some of Albus' many books and took a tumble onto his bed.

"I keep telling you that you need to clean up in here," Minerva laughed.

"Mhm, I know what I need to get rid of first," Albus said. He had his wand in his hand again and he used a Vanishing Spell on her clothes. All of them.

Minerva yelped, suddenly feeling exposed, flushed as she was with desire, but also embarrassment and perhaps a little fear. Albus bent over her, bringing his face up to hers, gently forcing her to meet his gaze. His eyes were bright with nothing but adoration, affection and arousal. It dissolved her need to cover herself and she allowed his eyes and his hands to roam where they pleased.

She quickly got annoyed with the disparity between them, though, when it came to their respective amount of clothing. She gave his an impatient tug and Albus obliged her. Minerva's breath caught in her throat when she lay eyes on him, all of him. She had never let herself appreciate how truly handsome he was.

Overwhelmed with the need to discover every inch of him, she pushed him into the pillows, reversing their positions for a moment. And he let her. She could feel that he would let her do whatever she wanted, and it only made her want him more. Perched on top of him, Minerva traced the smoothness of his chest and abdomen with the tips of her fingers and laid a trail of kisses all the way to his bellybutton, as far down as **she** dared, and then back up to his face.

"You said you wouldn't claim me," she whispered. "Well, too late, because I am claiming you."

His chest beneath her rumbled with laughter and his eyes were an entirely new shade of blue, dark and smouldering with passion. "You cannot claim what was already yours."

"If you are mine and you really want me to be yours, then prove it, Albus. Prove it and take me," she challenged him.

The shade of his eyes became darker still before Albus turned them around again, mindful to keep his weight off her when he covered her body with his. He distracted her by planting a slow lingering kiss on her lips and then one thrust of his hips brought them together.

Everything in Minerva's body tightened, her heart clenched, her breath hitched, as Albus reduced all of her conscious thought to a single feeling, the feeling of having him inside of her. And it only grew when he began to move, leaving Minerva helpless to do anything but clutch at his back while she trembled all over and eventually came completely undone in his arms. Albus didn't fare any different, and their moans mingled in a shameless symphony of release. After years of walking right up to the edge, but never taking the plunge, never falling, there was no way either one of them could hold back for long now.

With every single nerve in her body tingling madly, her arms and legs as limp and pliable as jelly, and her skin glistening with a thin film of sweat, Minerva sank back into the pillows. She felt more content and relaxed in this moment than she could remember ever having felt before. Albus shifted off her, but only as far as he needed to so his weight wouldn't bear down on her. He left his arm lying across her middle and he rested his head right next to hers on the same pillow.

Minerva only needed to turn her head to start kissing him again. Now that the urgency was out of the way, they could go slowly, tasting what it felt like without the fear and the desperation of possibly losing each other. Now, all there was left was a promise. And it tasted of forever.

When the heat in her chest began to subside and her breaths were less ragged, the drowsiness came. Curling into Albus, Minerva closed her eyes. He covered them both with the duvet, and she fell asleep, knowing she was exactly where she needed to be.

* * *

As he watched Minerva sleep, Albus wasn't certain if he was truly awake or still sleeping. While this might have happened in some of his more brazen dreams, he definitely hadn't planned for it to happen in real life. Then again, he had planned for very little where Minerva was concerned. After all, she was very good at making her own plans and at following through with them.

Perhaps Albus would never find out what had possessed him to throw all his caution to the wind like that. But to be fair, Elphinstone had left him with precious little choice. When he imagined Minerva in the other man's arms, naked, open and beautiful, it made Albus' blood run cold and he tightened his hold on her just a little.

The movement seemed to jostle her enough for her eyes to flutter open. They widened almost imperceptibly when she caught him already looking at her, but then they softened happily. Albus' lips curled up into a smile in response. He couldn't stop his expression from turning solemn, however, when he thought of the implications this had outside of this little bubble they were in.

Minerva's eyes narrowed and before Albus could open his mouth to say something, she suddenly sat up. "Save the speech, Albus. This was not a mistake. Or maybe it was. I guess only time will tell. But either way, we deserve to find out."

Amused, Albus let his eyes roam over her. No matter what happened, he never wanted to forget the way she looked this morning in all her glory. "I was just going to ask if you'd like to have breakfast in bed," he said.

Finally, Minerva remembered that she was naked. With an adorable blush to her cheeks, she pulled the covers back up to her collarbone. This was an entirely new side of her that he had never thought he would get to explore. Now it was embarrassingly difficult to think of anything else.

"Well, since I have no idea where you disappeared my clothes and my wand to, my range of movement is somewhat limited right now," she said with a hint of annoyance.

Albus chuckled. "I admit that might have been intentional on my part." But he didn't want her to feel powerless in any way, so he reached over and handed her back her wand.

Minerva took it, looked at it and then put it aside. "So, you were saying about breakfast?"

He laughed and pressed a quick kiss to her lips before he got out of bed. He wrapped himself in a dressing gown and sent a quick request down to the kitchens. Within minutes, he returned to the bed with a tray.

Now it was Minerva's turn to look amused. "Grapefruit again?"

"I thought now would be a good time to work on that happy part," Albus replied.

Minerva cupped his cheek with her right hand. "I don't need the grapefruit for that."

He couldn't help himself. He had to kiss her again, and this time she responded, so much so that the tray between them began to clatter warningly.

Albus reined his urges back in. "I want to take you somewhere today," he said. It was Saturday, which was lucky. As much as he loved being a teacher, he couldn't imagine anything worse than to be stuck in a classroom away from her all day.

"Where would we go?" Minerva asked curiously.

"Away from here," he said simply. Hogwarts was their home, but it was also filled with hundreds of prying eyes.

"Okay," she nodded, not demanding any more information. Of course, after what she had trusted him with last night, Albus certainly hoped she trusted him enough to take her on a little surprise outing.

After breakfast, he reluctantly let her go to shower and dress for the day. The connection between the Hogwarts fireplaces that Albus had never given much thought suddenly took on a whole new meaning. It allowed Minerva to return to her office without anyone noticing. Albus made a mental note to stock up on Floo Powder.

About an hour later, he stood at the edge of Hogsmeade, just off High Street, where they had agreed to meet. Albus smiled when he saw Minerva approach. He had told her to dress in Muggle wear, just in case they would be seen, though he very much planned to be alone with her. She had followed those instructions by donning a light summer dress. She had also left her hair open, which could only be a concession to his preference for it that way.

After all, Albus had done the same thing earlier when he had stood in front of the mirror grooming himself. It was silly, but any grey hairs he might find now while trimming his beard would make him feel guilty for allowing Minerva to give herself to an older man like him. Then again, after last night he almost felt young again. And no grey hairs in sight.

When Minerva reached him, Albus really wanted to kiss her hello, but he pulled himself together. "Fancy seeing you here, Professor," he teased her.

Her eyes gleamed with happiness. That he had something to do with that made Albus' heart lighter than it had been in years. "It's a beautiful day for a stroll," she said, amused.

"I quite agree," Albus nodded and held out a hand to her. "Shall we get going then?"

Minerva took his hand and he gently guided her towards their destination when they Disapparated together.

As soon as they reappeared, a gust of wind picked up Minerva's hair and started playing with it. Impatiently, she brushed those unruly strands out of her face and turned in a tight circle to find her bearings. They were standing amidst lush green hills, high cliffs, hidden plateaus and spectacular pinnacles of rock. The wild landscape was almost as stunning as the light that sparked in Minerva's eyes in response.

"This is the Quiraing," she said. "We're on the Isle of Skye."

Albus smiled. "See, there was no need to worry about me kidnapping you."

"That's because you can't kidnap a Scot in her own country," Minerva laughed.

"Then would you do me the honour of sharing your country with me?" Albus asked.

She took his hand again and they started on a little walk, enjoying the breathtaking vistas as much as each other's company. Minerva regaled him with stories about family hiking trips from her childhood and Albus had to concede that he probably wouldn't be able to keep up with her on a serious hike.

So when they chanced upon a sheltered spot where the wind couldn't reach them and the sun burned just enough to keep them warm, they stopped to take in the view.

"Is there anything more beautiful than this?" Minerva marvelled.

"I can think of a few things," Albus replied, planting a kiss on her cheek and then, unwilling to let go, he started kissing his way down her neck.

"Albus!" she warned him softly when he pushed the strap of her dress over her shoulder for better access.

In response, he pulled his wand out of his pocket and waved it lazily in a circle. "No one will find us here," he promised her.

"Show-off," she laughed.

"Isn't that what attracted you to me in the first place?" he countered.

Minerva raised an eyebrow. "You think I like you for your magic?"

"Don't you?"

"Perhaps a little." She chuckled and wrapped her arms around his neck. "But mostly just you."

Albus used his wand one more time to conjure a thick blanket and several pillows to soften the ground. Then he gently laid her down and took all the time in the world to make love to her. Continuing to become familiar with every part of her body, to discover what sounds he could elicit from her when he touched her in certain places and to delight in the knowledge that he could do wonderful things to her by only using his tongue. He might have just unearthed the only sure-fire way to stop Minerva McGonagall from having any sort of clever comeback.

She learned quickly, too, though. Albus had spent years developing an ironclad grip on himself to make sure that his passions would never again lead him astray. But when Minerva put her soft mouth on him and added a couple of strokes of her fingers, all of his precious self-control completely fell apart.

For a wonderful moment, any moment when it was just the two of them really, it was like he was free, all his defences betrayed, abandoned. All he wanted was more. More of her. It wasn't just a want anymore. He had learned to suppress those a long time ago. It was a need. A craving. A nearly physical thirst.

And Albus couldn't bring himself to regret it or to remember why he should continue to go hungry.

Eventually satiated, at least for now, they lay between the pillows. Just like earlier this morning, he could feel Minerva become a little uneasy with her blatant nakedness.

"Do you not trust that my protective spells will keep others away?" he asked.

She just gave him a look. "How could I not trust in your magic at this point?"

"Well, you certainly don't have to hide anything from me," he promised her since he would never tire of looking at her, and she definitely didn't need to worry about him not liking what he saw.

"Give me a break, Albus. This isn't exactly what I was taught in Sunday school."

He laughed and didn't stop her from conjuring a second blanket. Before she covered herself with it, though, she snuggled up to him, turning onto her side and resting her head on his chest. Albus wrapped an arm around her back and Minerva pulled up the blanket over both of them.

But something seemed to trouble her still. Albus ran a finger down an invisible line on her face, in between her eye and nose down past the corner of her mouth. "What is it, Minerva?"

"I just thought that I need to talk to Elphinstone," she replied. "And I need to do it in person. I owe him that much."

It wasn't what Albus had expected her to bring up right now, but he understood that this was weighing on her. It came from her sense of righteousness and her innate kindness that he admired so much. "I'm sorry. I know that can't be an easy conversation."

"No, but I think he would have been more surprised if I had really said yes than he will be when I say no. He must know that I never loved him."

"He might know that, but hope is a powerful thing. When we fall in love with someone, even when we know we shouldn't, there comes a time when we simply cannot fight it anymore," Albus said thoughtfully.

"Why should you fight it?" Minerva asked. "Falling in love is not a sin."

He heaved a sigh. "I fear sometimes it can be."

Minerva lifted her head off his chest and propped herself on one elbow to look at him. "What are you saying, Albus? We're not talking about Elphinstone anymore, are we?" He didn't answer her right away, but she didn't need him to. "If you're trying to tell me that you still don't want to be with me, you've picked a very, very poor time to do it," she added almost threateningly.

Albus couldn't help but laugh. "Oh my dear Minerva, if only you knew how completely at your mercy I am right now. I'm not telling you that I don't want you, and I apologise for ever doing that. I'm saying that I love you more than I ever had any right to."

Her eyes were the most brilliant shade of emerald. "Shouldn't I get to decide that? Who has the right to love me?"

"Of course, but you need to know that while I'm completely incapable of not loving you, I also cannot marry you," Albus told her.

Minerva responded with a dark chuckle. "Just what a woman wants to hear right afterwards."

He reached up to rest a hand in the crook of her neck and caressed her skin with his thumb. "I suppose it wasn't very honourable of me not to tell you this before, but I did warn you that I'm not an honourable man."

"Of course, you are," she said with an insistence he didn't dare defy. "You are complicated, yes, and you won't stop torturing yourself. But you're also brave and generous and caring. You will always forgive and you will never not fight for those who deserve it. So I would thank you for no longer talking ill about the man I love."

"Is that truly me?" Albus wondered.

"I know I couldn't see it for so long because of what happened with Dougal. And I won't ever forget him," she confessed. "But I'm almost beginning to feel like everything does happen for a reason. Because my reason is being with you, Albus, and I think it has been for the longest time."

She placed a finger on his lips to stop him from responding. "And I don't care if you never want to get married or tell anyone because this is not for anyone to know. This love is yours and mine and no one else's, certainly not the Ministry's, the papers or who else you're worried about. Just us."

Albus lifted his other hand to cup her face and pull it back down to his. Her hair fell forward and hid them behind a black curtain, tickling his skin, but the only thing that mattered was the feeling of their lips touching.

Not all vows needed words to be binding.

When she had stolen all of his air and he had gladly let her, they settled back down. Albus had both of his arms wrapped around her now, revelling in the simple joy of holding her to him.

"Did you love him?" Minerva startled him with a question he hadn't expected.

"Who?" he asked warily.

"Grindelwald."

Albus fought the impulse to turn away from her as that would have meant to push her away, so he just closed his eyes for a moment.

"I'm sorry," Minerva said, resting a hand on his cheek. "You just never explicitly said…"

He opened his eyes again because he couldn't look away from her for too long. "Yes, I loved him."

There was a pause, so eventually he asked, "Does that change anything?"

"No. It just makes me wonder what he and I have in common," Minerva admitted.

"Why would you need to have anything in common?" Albus argued, and he watched her think and perhaps realise that he and Dougal were also very different people.

Still, he said, "You both… saw me. Of course, Gellert only saw the worst parts in me and you have always seen the best. Though I don't know why, as I'm fairly certain that the best part of me is you."

"I thought I told you to stop talking about yourself like that," Minerva chided him.

He smiled helplessly. "Old habits. Isn't it enough that I know that I love you, even if I don't know why it is that you love me or even if you should?"

"No, but I guess for now it's enough if I know that," she replied, and the kiss she gave him was the sweetest yet.

It meant that she understood. They both did. That some wounds were too deep to heal, but they could learn to live with them. And more importantly, to love around them.

There was no use promising that there would never be anything but happiness, but they could promise that there would never be regret.


	39. Out of Hiding

**A/N: It's been a busy week, but I got this next chapter ready. Thanks for your reviews on the last one. I completely understand those of you who felt it was little rushed, because I felt the same way. But I couldn't help it. The passion just exploded out of me, and Albus and Minerva for that matter. And then I figured, they deserved the happiness. As for the marriage thing, that's partly me having something specific in mind and also trying to stay somewhat canon. Of course, Elphinstone is off the table now. I couldn't bring myself to go through with Minerva marrying him and becoming a widow and all that. But I will deal with other parts of the canon, as perhaps you will see if you keep reading. :)**

* * *

**39\. Out of Hiding**

The summer holidays miraculously transformed from an empty dreaded couple of weeks into two months of suddenly highly appreciated privacy and nearly uninterrupted joy. Since most teachers chose to leave the school to take a much needed break, Albus and Minerva had all of Hogwarts Castle to themselves.

Aside from an army of house-elves, of course, but they adored Albus as much as anyone else and posed no threat to them or their secrets. As deputy headmaster, they took Albus to be their master as much as Armando and so they wouldn't breathe a word to anyone about anything they saw.

So Albus and Minerva made the most of their time alone. They sat on the top of the Astronomy Tower, admiring the view of the Scottish highlands that protected Hogwarts as much as the enchantments did. Fawkes flew in circles around them, pointing out things that only he could see and only Albus could understand.

They danced under the stars in the Great Hall. The magical ceiling showered them with shooting stars, but in Albus' arms Minerva had no wish to make.

And every now and then, when Minerva could convince Albus not to go easy on her, they duelled in the Entrance Hall for sport. At one of those occasions, Albus deflected one of Minerva's spells and it hit the Slytherin hourglass instead. Hundreds of emeralds rained down on them and rolled off into hidden corners of the castle. Minerva was sorely tempted to leave it like that, but Albus seemed to think that was poor sportsmanship.

At the end of every summer when the students returned, Albus and Minerva retreated to their respective offices. They still spent just as much time together, or as much as work would allow, only more discretely. Thanks to the connection between their fireplaces, it was easy to come and go without drawing attention to themselves. Occasionally, though, Minerva got annoyed with all the soot on her robes. Because most of the time, they preferred to use Albus' much larger rooms.

Often, they sat in his sitting room, reading together, arguing about intriguing or laughable articles in _Transfiguration Today,_ discussing the potential of particular students or playing the occasional game of chess. Basically, they did what they had always done, only now Albus' hand would rest on Minerva's knee, she would lean her shoulder against his, or their feet would touch under the table. Small gestures that they felt ever more deeply as their love settled.

Eventually, one of them would decide that it was time to go to bed. Their nights weren't always filled with passion of a physical nature. Minerva was just as fond of sharing a bed with Albus simply so she could hold on to him and stop him from sneaking back out to work or brood over things. Whenever she wasn't with him, she would usually find him brooding. Learning how to use his affection for her to coax him out of it was a slow process. One she would eventually lose. But she had promised to try nonetheless.

This Saturday morning, Minerva was composing a letter to Robert, with whom she was corresponding regularly at the moment because he and his wife Debbie were expecting their first child. Meanwhile, Albus was engrossed in Muggle newspapers. Minerva wasn't entirely sure why he was reading those. He had once made a joke about enjoying crossword puzzles, but lately, he seemed a lot more interested in mentions of random Muggle disappearances that looked a lot less random when viewed through the lens of Albus' growing collection of such articles.

The arrival of an owl interrupted their domesticity. Minerva didn't even bother with it, though. The overwhelming majority of owls were looking for Albus. This one was no different. But in the corner of her eye Minerva did see that Albus' face was marked by a deep frown when he had accepted and read the letter.

"What is it?" she asked, looking up after all.

"The Mulciber trial was pushed up," Albus informed her.

"To when?"

"Within the hour."

Now Minerva mirrored the frown on Albus' face. "Shouldn't they have run that by you first?"

"Not if it's at the Minister's behest," he replied.

"Why would Leach get involved in Wizengamot business?" Minerva wondered.

"That I cannot say, but I better leave," Albus said, rising from his chair. When Minerva followed suit, he added, "Which does not mean that you need to leave as well."

Minerva hesitated. She hadn't stayed in his rooms much when he wasn't there with her. After all, she didn't live here. Not technically. "Are you sure you don't mind?"

Albus gave her a curious smile. "What's mine is yours," he said and sealed that proclamation with a kiss.

When he had left, Minerva's eyes went to Fawkes. The phoenix cocked his head. "He really shouldn't have said that," Minerva told him.

Once she had finished her letter, she rolled up her sleeves and did what she had been itching to do ever since she had first set foot in this room. She began to dust, collect and rearrange every single one of Albus' books she could find, reorganising the shelves in a way that looked less like the hoarding of a mad genius and more like the property of a uniquely brilliant mind.

It was very satisfying work, at least until Minerva stumbled over a pile of books she had remembered seeing Albus stuff under the bed. They contained such dark magic that Minerva had only heard rumours about it, if at all. In a knee-jerk reaction, she wanted to put them right back where she had found them, but the thought of sleeping on top of them made her sick to her stomach. So she stuffed them on a shelf in a corner, hiding them in a second row behind a couple of Defence Against the Dark Arts books as though they could serve as a protective barrier.

She was almost done when she heard Albus return to the office, but he clearly wasn't alone because there was a second voice with him – a very loud and angry voice that got increasingly louder and angrier. Surprised, Minerva froze. Fawkes also turned his head towards the door, ruffling his feathers. She knew she should have just waited for Albus' visitor to leave, but it felt strange to be trapped here, forced to listen to someone yell at Albus like that. Her patience for such behaviour, already limited to begin with, quickly ran out.

Minerva stepped through the portrait into Albus' office, which resulted in a rather unhappy look from Albus and a nonplussed expression from his visitor, who turned out to be Abraxas Malfoy.

"Is there a problem here, gentlemen?" she asked as if she didn't care about either reaction to her sudden appearance.

"Who are you?" Malfoy asked bluntly.

"I'm your son's Transfiguration teacher," Minerva replied just as coolly.

That information seemed to spark something in his memory. "Ah, you're the one who gave him detention for being five minutes late to class. Then surely you can explain to Dumbledore here why it is unacceptable to make excuses for such tardiness."

Since Malfoy looked back at Albus, he answered before Minerva could – who still had no idea what this was all about. "I'm sure even you, Abraxas, must admit that there is a difference between your son missing a class, that he knew full well would take place at its usual time, and the government's witness failing to attend a hastily arranged hearing they weren't properly informed about."

"You can argue semantics all day, Dumbledore, but that doesn't give you the right to push back the hearing in the government's favour!" Malfoy shot back heatedly.

"On the contrary, assuring a fair trial for both sides is not only within my rights as Chief Warlock, but in fact explicitly expected of me. You are, of course, very welcome to look it up," Albus told him, his voice calm but hard and unyielding. "Also, you will find that I did not push the hearing at all. I merely reinstated the previously agreed on time and place that you – somehow – convinced the Minister of trying to change. When I explained the situation to him, he agreed, however, that such a course of action would not be in the interest of justice."

"Justice," Malfoy sneered. "How is it justice that you insist on hearing that so-called witness when you already have the testimony of a reputable and highly respected man such as myself?"

Minerva snorted, quickly catching on. "Of course, you're saying that Mulciber is innocent. He's your friend!"

Malfoy glared at her. "My personal association with the accused notwithstanding, I would expect that in any respectable court my word should matter more than that of a Squib."

"Why? It's their magic that's limited not their eyesight," Minerva pointed out. "So there's no reason why they shouldn't be allowed to tell the court what it is they saw."

"That is if you assume that they can actually understand what it is they believe they saw," Malfoy said dismissively.

It was clear by the thin grim line Albus' mouth was forming that he was losing both his patience and his interest in this conversation. "While you are entitled to your opinion, I can assure you, Abraxas, that as long as I am Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot the word of every witness will count the same regardless of their social standing and ancestry."

"I see," Malfoy snarled. "Well, Dumbledore, you and Leach better watch out what happens when you open the doors to our community to such people. What's next? Goblins and house-elves?"

"I don't see why not."

Malfoy snorted in disgust, but he seemed to accept that Albus wouldn't be intimidated, bribed or otherwise convinced to change his mind. His eyes went from Albus to Minerva.

"I hope you at least know my son's worth," he said commandingly.

"I do," Minerva nodded. "The same as any of my other students – if he learns some respect that is."

Baring his teeth, Malfoy decided against giving another retort and simply turned on his heel to leave.

Albus leaned back in his chair, heaving a sigh. "Minerva, is there a particular reason why you chose to reveal the nature of our relationship to Abraxas Malfoy of all people?"

"Oh, come on, Albus, I didn't reveal anything. It's not as if I stepped out here naked," Minerva defended herself. "And he didn't even know who I was anyway."

"It's safe to say that he does now."

"And you didn't want him to?"

"I don't think it's very desirable to have to deal with men like Malfoy, no," Albus replied wearily.

"But you have to deal with them, so I just wanted to help," Minerva said with a shrug. "If you don't want me to, don't hide me in your room."

Albus arched an eyebrow. "That is hardly an appropriate description."

"No? Then you weren't hiding those books I found under the bed either?" she asked while she stepped back through the portrait.

"You had a busy day, I see," Albus replied drily when he followed her and saw the changes she had made. "And no, I wasn't hiding those books. I had merely left them there for safekeeping."

"Safekeeping for whom?" Minerva asked.

"I took them from the Hogwarts library."

Minerva looked at him in shock. "You mean those books were accessible to students?"

"Yes, and I fear I was rather too late in removing them." Albus headed over to the shelf where Minerva had tried to hide them and ran a finger over their cracked spines. "Did you read them?"

"Of course not! My God, Albus, we're not talking about a light novel to discuss over a cup of afternoon tea."

"No, they certainly don't make for very nice reading," Albus said simply, leaving the books where they were now.

Which was definitely a better place for them than in the public library, even in the restricted section. Minerva couldn't argue with that. And perhaps she shouldn't have accused Albus of hiding them, or her, for that matter.

"I suppose I could have waited for you to come back before rearranging everything," she conceded.

Albus' lips curled up and he walked back towards her. "You can change whatever you like in here. The only possession I truly cherish is the one I'm afraid I can never fully have since she has a wonderfully strong mind of her own."

Minerva smiled, wondering how it was possible that she would willingly give herself to Albus to own if he asked. "Then you're not upset with me for what happened with Malfoy?"

"Oh my love, if it were up to me, you could take all these books and throw them right at Abraxas' head."

"Don't tempt me!" Minerva laughed.

Albus lifted his hands to her cheeks. "How could I when in fact you're the temptress who has stolen my heart?"

"You make it sound as if you didn't want me to take it," she protested.

"So did you when you said that I was hiding you," he pointed out.

Minerva sighed and leaned into his touch. "How about we say that you chose to give me your heart and I chose to stay right here with it?"

Albus chose not to answer other than with a warm and tender kiss to her lips that instantly erased all the Abraxas Malfoys from her mind.

* * *

Minerva had already witnessed a birth firsthand, but when it was her niece or nephew trying to find their way into this world, it was a different matter entirely.

Robert had sent an urgent owl that Debbie was in labour and Albus had told Minerva to go and spent as much time with her family as she needed while he covered her classes. So now she was sitting in Robert and Debbie's home above their shop in Diagon Alley, trying to calm down her brother. The midwife was in with Debbie and she had kicked Robert out of the bedroom because he had been perfectly useless to everyone involved.

"Why is this taking so long?" Robert asked, pacing back and forth like a cat. Minerva had never realised how annoying that was.

"Because your wife is trying to bring a new human life into this world," she told him.

"Oh, don't lecture me! It's not as if you know what you're talking about!" Robert shot back.

Before Minerva had even fully processed that comment, her brother's face crumpled and he stopped his pacing to sit with her and take her hand. "I'm sorry. That was uncalled for."

"No, you're right," Minerva said. Under the circumstances, she would give him a free pass. "I don't have any children, so I shouldn't try to give you advice."

Robert squeezed her hand. "We can share mine. We both know you'd be better in raising him or her."

"You will be a wonderful father," Minerva assured him. "After all, you learned from the best."

"Yeah, I suppose I did," he nodded. "I wonder what's keeping him and Mama?"

"He'll still be in church," Minerva said. "You know he can't just run out in the middle of the service."

"Not even for the birth of his first grandchild?" Robert wondered.

They shared a look. "No, not even for that," they agreed at the same time and laughed.

"Well, that's a no for naming my son after him then," Robert said.

Minerva laughed. "Good, I really don't think we need a Robert McGonagall the third. Two is more than enough."

"Should I be offended by that? It sounds like I should be offended."

"I'm just saying that while I love you both very much, you do tend to have a stubborn streak," Minerva clarified.

Robert roared with laughter. "Excuse me? Who are you to talk to me about being stubborn?"

"All right, perhaps it's more of a family trait."

"Only if Malcolm is adopted."

They both chortled until the unmistakable sound of a newborn's first cry filled the house. Robert shot to his feet, his eyes wide. "That's my son!" he said, dazed, and then louder while he burst through the door to the bedroom. "That's my son!"

The midwife had just wrapped the baby in fresh blankets and placed it in the waiting arms of the mother. "Actually, it's your daughter," she said.

Robert paused for a moment, then his face split into a grin. "Even better! The women in our family are all geniuses!"

He rushed towards Debbie's side while Minerva stayed behind to give them a moment. Also, she was fighting back tears. She had never been happier for her brother. She had never been happier in general. Of course, a small part of her wondered what it would have felt like if she and Albus could have had this. Speaking of geniuses – any child of theirs could have very well been a true prodigy. Then again, that would have been a bit too much to put on a child.

"Hey, auntie! What are you doing back there? Come over here and say hello to your niece!"

Her smile returned and Minerva gladly followed her brother's call. She perched on the edge of the bed, congratulated Debbie and leaned in to marvel at the baby. She had Debbie's eyes and Robert's nose.

The doorbell rang downstairs. "That must be Malcolm with Mama and Papa," Robert said, rising to go and let them in.

But when he returned to the room, he announced, "Look who I found."

To Minerva's complete surprise, it was Albus who stood in the doorway. "I don't mean to intrude. I just wanted to say congratulations and to give you my best wishes for you and your child."

"That's so sweet of you!" Debbie said, nodding that it was okay for Albus to come in.

He walked up to stand behind Minerva, who was still amazed that he had chosen to come. So was Robert.

"So, are you still 'just a friend' of my sister's or are you uncle Albus now?" he asked, his eyes going back and forth between them.

Albus and Minerva exchanged a look. "Neither."

Robert looked confused but he laughed. "Okay, baby steps, I guess. Literally."

Minerva ignored him and turned back to Debbie. "So how are you feeling?"

Her sister-in-law gave a helpless laugh. "Like I gave birth to a baby dragon."

"She does look like a true spitfire. Not unlike her aunt," Albus commented, amused.

"Yes, since we can't name her after Papa, perhaps we should name her Minerva," said Robert.

"Oh Lord," Minerva groaned. "Please don't. That is no name for a little girl."

"Mama seemed to think differently."

"Mama was being moody and emotional when she named me."

Robert snorted. "Well, you turned out all right, didn't you?"

"And I happen to think that Minerva is a very beautiful name," Albus chimed in.

Minerva rolled her eyes at him. Sometimes he chose the oddest moments to say something ridiculously romantic.

"Why don't you all discuss this outside while I take care of Debbie here?" the midwife suggested.

No one dared to argue with her and so Robert took the baby from Debbie and the four of them stepped back out into the hallway. Robert began to walk up and down, gently rocking his daughter and talking to her quietly, while Albus and Minerva stood to the side and watched him.

"I didn't expect you to come," Minerva said softly.

"I just wanted to look in on you." Albus laced his fingers through hers. "See how it feels to be an aunt."

"Like someone gave me a job without checking to see if I have the necessary qualifications for it," she quipped, though it really wasn't that far off.

Albus chuckled. "If I'm not mistaken, you told me once that there is only one requirement, and I know that, like everyone in your family, you have that in spades. As you have proven every day now by loving me."

Minerva gave him a smile that was a little teasing but mostly genuine. "You say that as though it's a hard thing to do."

While Albus returned her smile, there was also a deeper-seated frown hidden underneath.

"What's wrong?" Minerva asked, concerned.

He shook his head. "This is not the place or the time."

"If it's troubling you, then yes, it is," Minerva insisted, tugging on his hand a little. "Or I'll have to take back what I just said about loving you not being hard."

There was a pause, then Albus brought his head closer to hers so they wouldn't be overheard. It was a needless precaution since Robert only had eyes and ears for his daughter. "The government witness in the Mulciber trial was found dead."

"What?" Minerva paled. "How?"

"They are calling it a hate crime, which will be nearly impossible to solve in the current anti-Squib climate."

"What's there left to solve? It's pretty clear who had a motive, isn't it?" Minerva pointed out. "Even more reason to lock up Mulciber."

Albus sighed. "The case was dismissed. The defence argued that there was insufficient evidence."

"How can anyone believe anything Mulciber says after this?"

"It wasn't him. He found a new very persuasive advocate for his cause."

"Malfoy again?" Minerva guessed.

Albus shook his head. "Abraxas was smart enough to step away from this as soon as the witness was found dead."

Minerva wasn't the least bit surprised. "How very self-serving of him. But who was this advocate then?"

"He calls himself Lord Voldemort."

"What?" Her brow furrowed. "There are no British wizards sitting in the House of Lords and no one stands to inherit that title either."

"That might very well be why he chose to adopt the title when he decided to shed the Muggle name he was actually born with," Albus replied.

Minerva's eyes widened. "You know him?"

Albus met her gaze and just looked at her for a long moment. "Do you recall a couple of years ago when I asked you to go to Borgin and Burkes to inquire about a former student of mine?"

Of course, she remembered. She also remembered what Albus had said about him being on a dark path. It had chilled her then and she wasn't even sure how it made her feel now. "Then you were right."

"Believe me, I wish I wasn't," Albus said grimly.

Minerva looked from him to her brother who was still crooning to her little niece, perfectly happy and oblivious. "We can't let her grow up in a world where a man like that can just act on his own twisted sense of justice and self-importance and get away with it."

"We won't," Albus promised her. "That little girl will always know the difference between right and wrong. She is a McGonagall after all."

"How do we make sure the rest of the world knows it, too?" Minerva worried, leaning against Albus.

"We might not be able to control how much time we have each been given or what some of us choose to do with that time, but our children, the ones who are meant to live long after we're gone, are very much in our hands," he said, pressing a kiss to their intertwined fingers.

He was talking about Hogwarts, of course, the one place that would never fall to the fear and ignorance that motivated men like Mulciber, Malfoy and this Voldemort to band together. Not unless they abandoned the school and stopped teaching the students to choose love over fear.

It was ridiculous how long Minerva had searched for that place in her life where she could make her stand, without realising that she had already found it.

And the man to stand with.


	40. Standing Strong

**40\. Standing Strong**

"Ah, Minerva, the headmaster wants to see you," Silvanus informed her when she met him outside the staff room.

"Right now?" she asked.

"As soon as you came back. He said it was urgent." Silvanus shrugged. "Sorry, but better you than me again, you know."

Minerva's only response was to heave a sigh. She had only just returned to the castle from staying with Robert and Debbie for Easter. They welcomed the help with the new baby, who wouldn't stop growing and who was becoming more demanding every day. Minerva had quickly fallen in love with her little niece, who had been christened Catriona Isobel McGonagall.

Now that Minerva was back at school, she had planned to stop by the staff room for a minute before finally going to see Albus. It was ridiculous how much she had missed him. Even before the holidays, he had been extremely busy helping to introduce new legislation meant to put a stop to the increase of dark magic activity in the country. Needless to say that Minerva was in full support of any such legislative action. Even more so when she was holding little Catriona in her arms.

Still, she had been looking forward to being the one to be held in Albus' arms again. But she supposed it could wait a little longer. Minerva's track record with Armando was a lot better than Silvanus', and one of the reasons for that was that she didn't leave him waiting when he asked to see her.

After riding up the spiral staircase Minerva swiftly knocked on the door, hoping that this wouldn't take long. As it turned out, though, she got to see Albus sooner than she had anticipated because when she entered the office, she found him standing by the window overlooking the grounds. The large chair behind the headmaster's desk was empty and Professor Dippet was missing.

"Albus, what's going on? Where's Armando? I was told he wanted to see me."

Albus turned away from the window to face her with a warm smile, but he didn't go to her, just like Minerva had stayed where she was by the door. After all, she suspected that Armando would return momentarily, and it wouldn't do for him to find the two of them in an intimate embrace.

"Armando had a little health scare over breakfast the other day. It seems Anna Mae wasn't wrong in telling him to cut back on the bacon," Albus began to explain. When Minerva's forehead creased in worry, he continued, "He's fine. But he has decided that if his heart should give out, he doesn't want to drop dead behind a dusty old desk. His words, not mine."

Finally, it dawned on Minerva what was happening. Silvanus hadn't specified which headmaster wanted to see her. It was also now that she noticed Fawkes, who was sitting on his golden perch in the corner. Quite possibly, nothing had ever looked so right to her as seeing the majestic phoenix in this magnificent office.

"I'm sorry to hear about Armando's poor health, but I have to say that this is a very good day for Hogwarts," she said and now she did take a couple of steps towards Albus.

His smile grew, but his words were as humble as always. "I hope so."

"And I know so… Headmaster," Minerva replied and reached out to link her fingers with his.

"Then this day is about to get even better," he said, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. Then he let go and walked over to what was now his desk. Once he stood behind it, he cleared his throat. "I didn't just ask you to come so I could share the news with you. On a much more important note, I would like to offer you the position of Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Minerva placed a hand over her mouth to hide that it had slowly dropped open in surprise.

"Before you say anything, I want you to consider the ramifications of giving me your answer," Albus continued solemnly. "Yes, it is undoubtedly a great honour, but it is also a sacrifice. It means to dedicate your life to this school as I have done and shall continue to do for as long as I am able. I would not ask this of you if not for the simple and yet irrefutable fact that Hogwarts deserves to have the very best person I could think of to follow in my wake, and it so happens that that person is you, Minerva."

She felt as though her heart had swelled to twice its normal size, bursting with love, love for this man and love for this school. The emotion caused her voice to shake a little, but her answer still rang clear. "I accept."

"You don't have to answer right…"

"I accept," Minerva repeated, cutting him off, her voice now firm and determined.

Albus didn't seem to mind the interruption in the slightest. His eyes were bright and joyful. "Very good, because I already informed the governors that you were my choice."

Minerva laughed, but thinking about the governors and her colleagues, many of them a lot older and more experienced than she was, sobered her somewhat. "Albus, are you sure making it your first official act as headmaster to promote me is appropriate?"

"Are you suggesting that my decision might be biased?" Albus asked.

"I'm saying that there are people who would think that if they knew about… us," Minerva said awkwardly.

She had never realised just how many portraits of previous headmasters and the occasional headmistress were hanging in this office – and they were all listening. They were meant to do that so they could give advice to the current headmaster, but not all of them had been imbued with good manners and the decency not to listen in on private conversations. They were, however, honour bound to serve the rightful headmaster of Hogwarts Castle, so while they might gossip amongst themselves, they would never betray Albus or reveal anything they had heard.

It would still require some getting used to.

Albus seemed not to pay them any mind. "I thought we had agreed that other people's opinions are not pertinent to us."

"We agreed to keep it a secret so they wouldn't even get to voice an opinion," Minerva argued, "and this feels like another very pressing reason to keep it that way."

"I very much intent to stick to our agreement when it comes to not sharing information about us. But even if we were to share it, I wouldn't be worried about your appointment to Deputy Headmistress being called into question in any way," Albus said while he rounded his desk. When he approached her now, he did take both of her hands in his.

"While it is true that I love you, very much so, that has nothing to do with the respect and admiration I have always had for you – and that our colleagues share with me." He gave her a cheerful smile. "In fact, Horace personally assured me that he didn't want the job and that I'd be a bloody fool if I didn't give it to you."

Minerva was oddly touched by that. She had felt morally obligated to point out the risks in mixing their personal and professional relationship even more than they had already done so far. But in truth, she was deeply excited about what she and Albus could do together – in every way and every sense of the word.

So she decided to really give the portraits something to talk about, and she kissed Albus at long last. After all these days spent apart, his lips were soft and inviting. If there were gasps of surprise or excited chatter around them, Minerva barely heard it.

When their kiss ended, Albus rested his forehead against hers and looked into her eyes over the top of his half-moon spectacles. "Oh, and of course I'm also making you Head of Gryffindor house and the Transfiguration Department."

Minerva blinked at him, at a loss for words for a moment. "There better be a raise somewhere in that, too," she said eventually.

Albus chuckled. "I'm afraid I will never be able to pay you a sum that comes even close to your true worth to this school."

"I might be willing to accept alternative methods of payment," Minerva replied with a wry smile.

"In that case you may ask of me whatever you want," Albus said, mirroring her expression.

Minerva thought it was high time for them to move this conversation to the headmaster's private rooms.

* * *

"Are you ready to begin your work as Headmaster of Hogwarts Castle?" Minerva asked, smiling as she took in the sight of Albus sitting behind that impressive desk.

He returned her smile. "Not as ready as you seem to be."

"Well, I have waited for this a long time," she said.

"As have I," Albus agreed. "So to answer your question, yes, I am ready to serve our school as best as I can."

He wasn't the only one. His predecessors also leaned forward in their frames, eager not to miss anything. Their presence was slowly becoming less disconcerting to Minerva. Slowly being the operative word. The other day Antonia Creaseworthy had congratulated Minerva on her relationship with Albus, while Phineas Black kept sneering and rolling his eyes. Not that Minerva cared about the opinion of one of the least popular headmasters the school had ever seen.

She settled into a second chair behind Albus' desk, though a little off to the side, shortly before Apollyon Pringle entered the office after a sharp knock.

"You wished to see me, Headmaster."

"Yes, Apollyon, thank you for coming."

"It's not as if I had a choice, really," Pringle muttered, as charming as ever.

Albus seemed perfectly unperturbed. "Don't worry. I won't take up too much of your precious time. Especially since I have to inform you that, regrettably, we have come to a parting of ways."

Pringle stared at him blankly. "A parting of what?"

"Hogwarts will no longer require your services as caretaker," Albus explained more plainly.

"You're giving me the sack?"

"If you prefer to put it like that, yes, I am."

That certainly got through to Pringle. "You can't do that!"

"Of course, he can, and even if he couldn't, do you really think taking that tone with him would help your current situation in any way?" Minerva couldn't keep quiet.

Pringle glared at her. "You talked him into this!"

"I assure you I am perfectly capable of making up my own mind," Albus replied before Minerva could. "And I believe I have asked you repeatedly to stop caning students, and yet you left marks on Arthur Weasley just the other week."

"He was out on a little midnight stroll with the Prewett girl! He could have gotten her knocked up or…" Pringle tried to defend his actions.

"No matter what they were doing," Albus cut him off, "I will not allow corporal punishment at my school, nor will I tolerate being ignored."

The warning in his voice made Minerva shiver. She had to hand it to Pringle, he was unbelievably thick-skinned. He barely even flinched.

"How do you expect to keep these little brats in line then, Dumbledore?"

"That is no longer your concern," Albus replied simply, "since your employment at this school is terminated, effective immediately. Please collect your belongings and leave the premises."

Pringle gritted his teeth for a moment. "Fine, when they made you headmaster, I knew that this school was no longer the right place for me."

"On that we can agree. Goodbye, Apollyon."

"Don't get too comfortable, Dumbledore. Some of these cretins are little criminals in the making, and they will come at you when you least expect it," Pringle said ominously before he left the room.

"That," said Minerva, her brow furrowed, "was not as satisfying as I thought it would be."

Albus smiled at her. He didn't seem worried about students coming for him. "That's because you're a very kind woman."

"Should we test that theory by also firing Professor Narramore?" Minerva suggested innocently.

"Now you're being a little less kind," Albus replied pointedly.

"Then let's stop firing people and start hiring some. Shall I go and fetch our first applicant?" Minerva offered.

"Yes, please do," Albus nodded. When Minerva had risen from her chair, he suddenly grabbed her hand and pulled her onto his lap so he could kiss her.

Out of breath, Minerva asked, "What was that for?"

"Just something to get me through the day without touching you," Albus said, running his hands down her arms.

Minerva laughed. "For a serious man, you can be very silly sometimes." But she willingly melted into him.

"I'll gladly be a fool for your love," Albus murmured into her hair.

Somebody behind them gave a derisive sneer.

"Oh, sod off, Black!" Minerva snapped as she got back up from Albus' lap and left the office without sparing the portrait of the headmaster from Slytherin another glance.

She met their first job applicant in the Entrance Hall, chatting with Hagrid. "Pomona! It's so good to see you again."

"You, too, Minerva!" Pomona Sprout replied with a broad smile. "How's the niece?" No doubt Malcolm had told her about Catriona.

"She's wonderful. Thanks for asking," Minerva said before she turned towards the gamekeeper. "Thanks for bringing her up here, Hagrid."

"Any time. An' congratulations on yer promotion. Knew yeh had it in yeh!"

"Thank you. Now, are you ready, Pomona?"

She nodded and they started climbing the stairs back up to the headmaster's office. "So, do you have any tips for me on how to impress Dumbledore? Clearly, you're the leading authority on the matter."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Minerva asked, trying to mask her concern. Waking up to another article in _Witch Weekly_ was a recurring nightmare of hers. Especially since this time, it would be true.

"Well, you were his favourite student and now you're his deputy and even friends with him," Pomona replied. "If you don't know the man, who does?"

Some of her worst fears dispelled, Minerva laughed. "That is actually a very good question."

"So you're saying that you don't know him?"

"I try to," Minerva replied honestly. "And what I can tell you is that all you need to do to make a good impression with Professor Dumbledore is to be yourself and to tell the truth."

And that's exactly what Pomona did during the interview with Albus. Before long, the three of them were laughing about Pomona's enthusiasm to return to the castle to visit her pet Devil's Snare Peppers again.

"Now, with Professor Beery eyeing retirement as soon as you will have found your way around our Herbology Department, Hufflepuff house will also be needing a new Head of House soon," Albus informed her. "There are other members of staff who could assume the position, but if you feel up to the challenge, I don't see why you shouldn't also follow in Herbert's footsteps in that regard."

Pomona beamed at them. "I'd be honoured."

"Then the only thing left for me to say is welcome back to Hogwarts, Professor Sprout," Albus said to conclude the interview.

As soon as Pomona had left, the portraits, who had been respectfully quiet during the appointment, began to offer their opinions on Albus' first hiring. Minerva's gaze wandered towards the window and she simply let the chatter wash over her. Weirdly enough, it had begun to snow this late in April.

"What's that smile for?" Albus' voice eventually brought her back to the office.

"I just realised that very soon we will have three female Heads of House," Minerva replied. At least, until Cyrille would decide that she was truly getting too old for this.

"You sound surprised," Albus noted.

Minerva turned away from the window and met Albus' eyes. "I always thought it's what Hogwarts needed, but I never thought I'd live to see it."

"You won't just live to see it, my dear, you will live to live it," Albus said with a chuckle.

"We will both get to live it," Minerva corrected him.

But first, they got to talk to their next applicant.

"You come highly recommended," Albus said to Poppy Pomfrey, who unlike Pomona had a no-nonsense air about her. "Madam Hailstone says there is no one she would rather trust with the health and safety of our students."

"Thank you, Headmaster. I do have a preposition to make in that regard," Madam Pomfrey said.

Albus looked both surprised and amused. "You do? Already?"

"Yes. We lost our last headmaster prematurely, partly due to his ill-advised eating habits, so I think it's about time we shine a light on what we eat. Hogwarts is famous for its feasts, but we can't just splurge for the hell of it. We need to reduce the amount of refined sugar in our meals and offer the students more healthy options."

It seemed that Albus didn't have an immediate response. Perhaps he was embarrassed that his freshly chosen password for the headmaster's office was 'Pumpkin pastries'.

And perhaps that was why Madam Pomfrey continued, "I realise this won't be very popular, so I would suggest to start at the top. Make sure we don't lose another headmaster and overhaul your diet first."

The look on Albus' face was almost comical and Minerva snorted.

"Oh, you're hired," she said.

Madam Pomfrey looked pleased. Albus perhaps a little less so.

"I think we need to revisit who of the two of us was appointed headmaster of this school," Albus said drily once Madam Pomfrey had left.

Minerva was still laughing. "I apologise. I was just helping you to hire someone who has the school's best interests at heart. And since it's in the school's best interest to keep you alive, she clearly fits that bill."

"Then surely, it is also in the school's best interest to keep its deputy headmistress happy by having her move into bigger offices," Albus countered.

He had been trying to talk her into that for days. "I told you I don't want to move into your old office. Give it to Pomona."

"Who will be spending all her time in the greenhouses with Peppers," Albus pointed out.

"Well, I will be spending all my time with you," Minerva replied frankly. "That is, if I'm not busy working the three jobs you passed on to me."

Albus opened his mouth to respond, but a knock on the door forestalled him. Apparently, their next applicant had found his own way to the headmaster's office.

Argus Filch wasn't the most charming man. He wore a not very flattering brown coat, had a pasty face and long hair that looked as though he had attempted to comb it today for the first time in quite a while. He also wasn't terribly eloquent, but that wasn't necessarily a much needed skill for a caretaker. And unlike Pringle, he had a good reason for having developed such an unpleasant personality.

Minerva actually felt sorry for the man when he tried to put that into words. "There's something you ought to know before you hire me. I'm not… I can't actually… I'm a… a…"

"… a Squib," Minerva helped him out as kindly as she could.

Having already been aware of this, Albus only nodded. "Did you participate in any of the Squib Rights marches?" he asked.

"Er…" Filch's bulging eyes quickly went back and forth while he tried to figure out what the right answer was and whether Albus wanted to hear him say that he was political or just the opposite.

"I apologise," Albus said to save him from that dilemma. "You are under no obligation to answer that. I was merely asking because if you do wish to join any of the next marches, we will find a mutually agreeable arrangement to give you time off. Hogwarts will stand with you in full support of your right to make your voices heard."

Minerva had to bite down on her lower lip so she wouldn't smile at Albus with too much pride and love in her eyes. Filch was clearly caught off guard. "So… I have the job?" he asked eventually.

"Yes, you have the job," Albus confirmed.

When Filch had left again, Minerva was beginning to feel worn out from all these interviews. But she knew that they weren't done yet, even though it was now dark outside and the snow was beginning to pile up on the ledge. "So, there's one more appointment here, but it doesn't say with whom," she told Albus, surprised. She hadn't noticed earlier that the name of this applicant was missing.

Albus, however, was not surprised at all. "Yes, I will take that one alone if you don't mind."

That did nothing to clear Minerva's confusion. "Why? Don't you want my opinion on this one?"

"I won't need it. I already know that I won't be giving this applicant a job here at Hogwarts," Albus replied.

"Then why talk to them at all?" Minerva asked, her eyebrows only rising higher.

"Please, Minerva, may I ask you to return to your office and, if you don't have any urgent business elsewhere, to stay there for the time being."

It didn't really sound like a request, but he did say it softly and sincerely. Minerva was completely bewildered. She also had no reason not to give Albus the benefit of the doubt. So she stood, stretching her arms and legs. "I will see you later then?" she asked hesitantly.

To her relief, Albus smiled at her warmly. "Always."

Later that night when Albus had joined Minerva in her bed for a change – which she suspected he did for the sole purpose of proving to her that it was too small and that she should move into his old office – she waited until his breaths had almost evened out.

Then she shifted closer to him and rested her chin on his chest. "So who was it?"

Albus lazily opened one eye to look at her.

"The applicant today whom you didn't want to give the Defence Against the Dark Arts post," she pressed.

Now Albus opened both eyes to give her a slightly exasperated look.

"It's the only opening we have left, so that part wasn't hard to figure out," Minerva forged ahead. "Which only leaves the question why you would meet with someone you had no interest in hiring."

"I hoped to glean an answer as to why he had requested the meeting in the first place, knowing full well I wouldn't hire him," Albus replied with a sigh.

"If you both knew that it wasn't really about the job, then what did you talk about?"

"I tried to impress upon him that I am not at all taken with what he has been doing since the last time I saw him when he was still my student."

Startled, Minerva pushed herself up. "You're not saying… it was him? Voldemort? He was here?"

"Oh yes, he even brought his 'friends' as he calls them," Albus nodded. "Aberforth has been serving them drinks all evening."

"Why?" Minerva asked with a shudder. "Why would he need his little cult with him?"

"Well, he would never admit that, but I do think he didn't want to come alone because he is still at least a little afraid of me."

"He should be!" Minerva exclaimed. "Why didn't you say something earlier? We could have gone down there and…"

"And done what?" Albus asked, his eyebrows raised. "It is not against the law to get a drink at the Hog's Head."

Annoyed, Minerva sank back into the pillows. "It just feels wrong to know that we did nothing while they were so close to Hogwarts, spewing forth their hatred and their depraved notions of pure-blood supremacy."

"I know," Albus agreed and he gently brushed her hair out of her face before he let his hand rest on her cheek. "But we did not do nothing. Today, Hogwarts stands stronger than ever."

She knew he was right, but she couldn't quite let this go yet. "Did you find out what he wanted?"

"I can only venture a guess," Albus said, and when he saw the mute protest in her eyes, he added, "One that is so wild that it does not even bear repeating."

Minerva huffed. This was like when he had asked her to stay in her office earlier without asking questions. "What did you think would happen if I had run into him?"

"I do not know and I do not wish to find out," Albus said firmly, while he caressed her cheek with his thumb in such tender circles that it was impossible for her to hold on to resentment. "But I do wish he could have known a love like yours," Albus added softly.

"Do you really think that would make a difference?" Minerva asked.

"I think it would make all the difference in the world," Albus said sincerely, opening his arms for her to move back in. "Because I know it has for me."

* * *

**A/N: Hope you enjoyed seeing a couple of familiar faces. To me, this chapter is all about how Dumbledore changed Hogwarts for the better, since the need for change has been a theme all the way through Minerva's time at school. So that was important to me. Anyway, thanks to all of you who are still reading, enjoying and reviewing this story. Have a great weekend!**


	41. Beacon of Light

**41\. Beacon of Light**

When Albus bent down to give Minerva a light kiss hello and make use of the fact that they were alone in the staff room, she just pursed her lips and kept her eyes trained on her work.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, sitting down next to her with a frown.

"I wouldn't know, would I?" she replied when she finally looked up. "Since you won't tell me what this staff meeting is supposed to be about."

Albus suppressed a smile. He knew exactly how much work she had now and yet she wouldn't stop trying to do his on top of her own. "Sometimes I wonder if you really trust that I'll be a good headmaster since you won't even let me schedule a staff meeting without conferring with you first."

"Oh no, you don't get to turn the tables on me and make this about me not trusting you when it's clear that it's the other way around."

"I don't think that's clear at all."

"Well, I'm beginning to think that you only wanted me to be your deputy so you wouldn't have to fix the timetables anymore," Minerva said, and Albus thought he knew exactly where her headache was coming from.

"I definitely wanted you to take the timetables off my hand," he admitted with a chuckle. He had been waiting for that opportunity since her first day here as a teacher. "But the rest of what you're insinuating couldn't be further from the truth and I think you know that."

Minerva put down her quill with a huff. "What I know is that everyone kept pestering me today, asking about this meeting and whether it was mandatory, while you sat safe and sound up in your ivory tower."

Albus' eyebrows shot up. "My what now?"

She never got to answer because their colleagues began to trickle in for that meeting he had asked everyone to attend. Once the entire staff was assembled, Albus rose from his chair.

"First off, there's no need to worry. I have no intention of making any of us late for dinner," he said.

Horace laughed. "I already like the way you conduct your meetings! Well done, Albus."

"Thank you, Horace. Now, the reason I have asked all of you to join me tonight is to let you know that I intend to make a change to the enchantments protecting our school."

"You mean you're going to strengthen them?" asked Cyrille. "Is this because of the Minister's mysterious illness? Are you saying it's true that he was poisoned? Is Hogwarts in danger?"

Albus heaved a sigh. "No, this has nothing to do with that unfortunate incident. And I won't strengthen our enchantments. I plan to take something away."

That announcement was followed by a stunned silence before everyone seemed to start talking at the same time. Everyone except Minerva, whose bright green eyes bore into his sharply, but as always without passing judgment prematurely.

"You were off to a strong start, Albus, but now things are getting a little shaky," Horace's booming voice drowned out the rest.

"Then let me explain," Albus said, raising a hand to ask for quiet. "Hogwarts will be as protected as it has always been. But when some of those enchantments were placed upon the school, our founders thought they needed to protect the castle against all Muggles. However, since then we have seen a great increase in students who have one or two Muggle parents. The fact that these parents cannot see, much less step foot inside Hogwarts other than for an hour a year for graduation is both unreasonable and unacceptable. Which is why I plan to alter those protective spells so that Muggles who are parents or guardians of Hogwarts' students and already aware of the school's existence are able to enter the castle as easily as any other parent," Albus finished explaining his intentions. "And now I am happy to hear your opinions on the matter."

"It sounds reasonable enough, of course, but are you sure you can just mess with those ancient spells like that?" Cyrille wondered.

"Well, we're talking about Albus here. If he can't do it, then who can?" said Horace.

"Just because something can be done, it doesn't necessarily ought to be," warned Professor Oldroyd. "Some things are best left the way they are."

"But just because something is, doesn't mean it's right," argued Pomona.

"Do we even need to quarrel about this?" asked Rolanda. "Are you sure this can be done, Headmaster?"

Albus nodded slowly. "It can be done, provided all four Heads of House give the headmaster their unanimous support."

"You have my support," Pomona said right away.

"And mine," Cyrille added more thoughtfully.

Horace shrugged. "Sure. Why not?"

All heads turned towards Minerva, who hadn't said a word since Albus had started the meeting. When their eyes met now, hers were so full, they could have had hours of conversation in the span of that single second. But there really was no need.

"Gryffindor house agrees," she said. "Wholeheartedly."

"Very well," Albus said through his smile. "I shall perform the spell tonight…"

"A terrible idea, Headmaster," Professor Narramore interrupted. "You see, Mars is in the third house tonight and…"

"Yes, thank you," Albus cut her off somewhat impatiently. "I shall take that under advisement. Now, all that is left for us to do is to schedule an Open Day to invite all those parents to come to Hogwarts for a long overdue tour of the school. Minerva, could I ask you to find us a suitable date?"

"Of course."

"And Heads of House, please talk to your students and perhaps suggest that they postpone any plans that involve dungbombs, portable swamps, nose-biting teacups or other marvellous pranks until after we've hopefully put our best foot forward during their parents' visit. That is all," Albus concluded.

To some laughter and some animated conversation, his colleagues began to push back their chairs and leave the room to make their way to dinner.

Albus leaned against the table. "So, how do you feel about joining me in my ivory tower tonight to make some history?"

The look on Minerva's face was torn between elation and chagrin. "You were setting me up to have to apologise to you later," she accused him.

"I did no such thing. I merely followed the general conventions when one intends to make something a surprise."

Minerva rolled her eyes. "Well, don't do that. I don't like surprises. I was really angry with you for a minute there."

"Ah, but surely, that was only because Mars is in the third house tonight…"

She stood so abruptly that her chair toppled over and for a moment Albus worried that she was still upset. But then she threw her head back and laughed, laughed deeply and freely. It was the most beautiful sound Albus had ever heard.

She walked over to him, and standing by his side, she, too, leaned against the table. Only their shoulders were touching, which would look more or less innocent if one of their colleagues returned. And it was enough to share in each other's warmth. They had learned not to need more than that sometimes. "Have you talked to anyone about this before just now?"

"Who would I tell if I didn't even tell you?" Albus replied simply.

Minerva smiled beautifully, but she said, "The governors won't like being told after the fact."

Albus shrugged. "If they see fit to remove me, then at least my legacy will be to have granted all parents access to their children at Hogwarts and that will have been well worth it."

"If they remove you," Minerva said, resting further against him, "they would do Hogwarts the greatest disservice in all of its long history."

"Not necessarily," Albus argued, enjoying the feeling of shouldering her weight. He wished he could do that all the time. "They might make you headmistress instead."

"I would never accept."

"Minerva, your loyalty must be to the school, not to me," he said with a gentle push. But one look at her told him that there was no use arguing about that now. In fact, he didn't want to argue at all when it was much more tempting to bathe in the devotion in her eyes and to pretend that he deserved it.

"I was told there was to be a meeting."

Albus and Minerva both jumped a little when Professor Binns came floating in through the back wall.

"The meeting has already concluded, Cuthbert," Albus informed him while he regrettably looked away from Minerva.

"Oh, terrible shame," said Binns and floated over to the very chair he had once died in. "My apologies to the headmaster."

"I am the headmaster," Albus said drily.

Minerva hid her face behind his shoulder to laugh.

* * *

There had been plenty of protest from (mostly) Slytherin parents and today there were very few students from Slytherin or their parents present. Nevertheless, the Entrance Hall was packed. Many parents from students in the remaining three houses had responded to Albus' Open Day invitation with great enthusiasm.

It had been an organisational nightmare to enable all the parents to get to Hogwarts in the first place, especially those without any other witches or wizards in the family. But Minerva had been glad to put in the work. After all, there had rarely been a task she had believed in more strongly than she believed in this.

When she walked past Albus to stand with the other Heads of House, the back of her hand brushed his as if by accident. The small, private smile on his lips told her that he knew it hadn't been accidental at all. Of course, he didn't actually need her show of support. That man had practically been born to make speeches.

"I promise I won't bore you with a long lecture. However, I do feel I must warn you. Unfortunately, you can take the teacher out of the classroom and make him headmaster, but you can't take the tendency to create teachable moments out of a man who used to be a teacher for as long as he can remember. And this is such a teachable moment. No need to panic, though, there won't be any tests today."

A ripple of laughter ran through the crowd and the father of one of Minerva's first-years called, "I wouldn't mind earning one of those hard-to-get Ts for 'Terrific'."

"Is that what your…" Albus' eyes strayed towards Minerva and she mouthed the answer he was looking for, "… son told you? Then I fear you were misinformed. T actually stands for 'Troll', and yes, those are rather hard to get since one would need to communicate with nothing but grunts and roars during the entire exam."

The father looked gobsmacked while the rest of the hall laughed.

"Nevertheless, if you're interested in taking an exam, I'm sure that can be arranged," Albus offered. Minerva's eyes widened and she tried to shake her head at him. She had not prepared for anything like that. But Albus just smiled at her in complete confidence. Well, she supposed they could use some from last year.

"But the teachable moment I was talking about is not for you. It is for me, my colleagues and our school," Albus continued and the excited parents quieted down again. "Our school has a long-standing tradition of providing each and every student with the best wizarding education they could possibly receive anywhere. Just don't tell my fellow headmistress and headmasters around the world I said that."

Everyone chuckled. Albus had the parents eating out of his hand, even those who had been critical of all this upon their arrival. It never ceased to amaze Minerva how he did that.

"We have not, however, been equally fair and pioneering when it comes to respecting you, the parents. But I can promise you that we are well aware that while we get to shape your children's minds, it is you who give them what they need to venture out into the world – knowing that they have your support and, most importantly, your love."

A hush had fallen over the crowd as they listened to the more solemn but heartfelt turn Albus' speech had taken. "So I hope you will let us correct that oversight today, accept my apology on behalf of the entire staff, and let me say with the greatest of joy and overwhelming pride: welcome to Hogwarts!"

There was a round of applause and then chaos followed. All the parents now wanted a private word with Albus, which was too much to handle even for him. So Minerva jumped in for some much needed crowd control. While she assured the parents that they could all talk to the headmaster, but not at the same time, she quietly slipped a scroll of parchment with all the names into Albus' hand so he would know who he was talking to. When he took the scroll, his fingers caressed hers for a second in thanks.

Smiling to herself, Minerva proceeded to direct the parents. Rolanda would take a group down to the pitch for an introduction to Quidditch, Hagrid and Pomona would give them a tour of the grounds, greenhouses, the lake and the edges of the forest, while the remaining teachers would show them around the castle itself. Everyone except Silvanus, who had been benched for this one. They could not risk another accident today. In the meantime, the prefects and Head Girl and Boy would make sure that the students behaved themselves.

Minerva had worked on that schedule for days and she was relieved to see that it proved effective. She was completely focused on making sure it stayed that way until she felt a hand at the small of her back for a fleeting moment, a sure-fire way to get her attention.

Her gaze questioning, she looked up to connect with Albus, who had already moved on and indicated to her that he wanted to talk to her alone off to the side. Minerva raised an eyebrow at him. She was a little busy here, and so was he. Albus just smiled at her, asking her to trust him. Minerva rolled her eyes at him, letting him know how much she hated it that he could make her follow him on blind faith. Albus' eyes sparkled, reminding her that it was the exact opposite of hate she was feeling. She couldn't argue with that and gave in.

"What's going on?" Minerva asked when she had caught up with him.

"I need you to lead another tour," Albus told her quietly.

"Then why did you pull me away from…?"

"A private tour," Albus interrupted her softly and turned her around so she faced the entrance.

Minerva gasped when she saw her father standing there. "What is he doing here?"

Albus just smiled at her. "He is a Muggle parent, and while this might be a little late, I thought better late than never."

Before she could come up with a response, Albus had given her a little push and walked away to talk to the next parent. Dazed, Minerva went to greet her father.

He also looked a little uncertain and his eyes kept going back and forth. "What are you looking for?" Minerva asked.

"Just looking out for those little worm thingies," he replied.

Minerva grimaced. "That will never happen again."

Robert McGonagall seemed sceptical. "Something always seems to happen around here."

"Not anymore. Not now that Albus is headmaster."

"You have a lot of faith in him."

"I do," Minerva nodded. "Well, in him and in myself," she added with a little laugh.

"That's right," Robert smiled. "So are you sure the deputy headmistress has time to show me around?"

Minerva took his arm, swallowing a lump of emotion in her throat. "You have no idea how long I've been waiting to do that."

"Actually, I think I do," he replied, squeezing her hand.

And so they were off on that tour of the castle Minerva had never thought she could give him. Her father knew a lot about Hogwarts, but it was all theoretical from hearing his children talk about it all these years. In reality, he had never been past the Great Hall. There was so much to see, it was quite impossible to take it all in at once. But Robert seemed willing to try.

He smiled when Minerva showed him where she used to sit in what was now her very own Transfiguration classroom. He seemed a little intimidated when the stairs started to change direction on their own, but he braved them all to visit Gryffindor Tower with her. Judging by the way he sank into one of the armchairs by the fire, he thought it was cosy enough. Or maybe he just didn't want to find his way out again. But they made it back down eventually and her father's eyes were round with wonder when he was greeted by several Hogwarts ghosts and offered all his favourite foods by the house-elves, who bowed deeply to him when they found out who he was to Minerva.

The students they met were curious about him, too. Some seemed to think that it was funny that their Transfiguration professor was walking around with her father. To them, Minerva was probably too old to even have a father. Except, she wasn't old at all and she wouldn't tolerate any disrespect, not even today, and certainly not in the presence of her father. So she quickly got the students back in line by dropping thinly-veiled threats about homework assignments, surprise tests and needing someone to serve as a guinea pig to demonstrate how to turn humans into frogs.

"I feel I must apologise to you, Minerva," Robert said eventually when they were headed for Minerva's study. It would be their last stop for now. He looked like he needed a break.

"What for?" she asked, pausing outside her office door.

"I haven't always been fully supportive of your choice to live here and teach. But I can see now that this is where your heart is," her father said, reaching out to hold her hand.

Even after everything he had seen today, he still had no idea how very true that was. Still, hearing him say it, made that very heart in Minerva's chest feel as light as a feather. With a grateful smile, Minerva opened the door and let her father into her study.

"Hogwarts isn't perfect and most definitely not accident-free. But it's where I can make a difference," she said. "And when I find the time, this is were I work and sleep," she added.

Robert let his eyes survey the room before they landed on Minerva. "Is it?" he asked curiously. "Where you sleep?"

Surprised, Minerva didn't know how to respond at first. He was clearly insinuating that she might be spending her nights elsewhere, in somebody else's bed, which she did, as often as she could manage. But she had never, officially, told her parents that. She had also not tried to hide her love for Albus from them, however, and so they seemed to have figured it out for themselves.

"I know you don't really approve of the way we live together…" she hedged, not sure if she truly wanted to discuss this with him.

"I'm your father," he said, and Minerva feared there might be a lecture coming. "My only job is to make sure that my daughter has a life that is good and full of happiness and love, and usually that involves getting married and having children – children of your own," he amended with a small smile and Minerva dared to hope for the best.

"But your professor, your… Albus, he came to the house to explain why he wanted me to come. I couldn't relate to everything he told me, but I did understand that his reason for doing it was you." Her father put his hands on Minerva's shoulders and let them weigh there for a moment. "How could I not approve of a man who loves my daughter that much?"

"Even if it means living in sin?" she joked, hoping that would help her to blink away the tears in her eyes.

Robert looked at her and he said in all seriousness. "Whatever it is you two share, I know that it does not come from a place of darkness or evil. Rather the opposite, in fact. Also," his smile became a little crooked, "I'm a minister, not an angel. I do know that some rules are meant to be broken, especially when certain… physical attractions are involved. When I met your mother, well, let's just say, the flesh is weak."

Minerva stared at him in amazement and then she roared with laughter. They both did, and Minerva happily fell into her father's arms.

* * *

It seemed their little Open Day adventure had turned into a full success. With the exception of the very end perhaps. There was a heavy storm coming for Hogwarts. It hadn't made landfall yet, but it had sent rain ahead – the driving, torrential kind of rain. Nevertheless, Albus trusted that his staff would see all the parents safely back home.

He had returned to his office for some urgent headmaster business that included… well, not to be out there and get wet, for one thing. He was composing a letter to the governors when Minerva entered, completely drenched from head to toe. She must have just seen off the last of their visitors, and apparently, she hadn't taken the time to dry herself off.

"Oh dear," Albus said. "I know you enjoy the occasional walk in the rain, but this seems a little exces…"

Minerva wouldn't let him finish his sentence. She had quickly rounded his desk and, bent over him with one hand on each armrest of his chair, she now brought her wet mouth to his. "I love you, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore," she whispered fiercely against his lips.

A shiver ran down his spine, both because of the purity of her words and because Minerva's body was ice-cold and she was now dripping water all over him. In one swift motion Albus stood and, wrapping his arms around her midriff, he lifted her off her feet. Fawkes squawked in protest when the movement sent raindrops flying in his direction, too, but Albus ignored him as well as the curious looks from his fellow headmasters. He carried Minerva away from all those prying eyes into the bathroom.

His private bathroom, for which becoming headmaster was well worth it because it had an obscenely large bathtub – especially considering that the office had originally only been intended for a single occupant. One tap of the wand was sufficient and the tub magically filled to the brim with water.

After he had set her back down, Albus removed Minerva's wet clothes while she took off his dry ones and then they sank into the marvellously warm tub that turned the angry cold of the storm outside into a distant memory.

As the first bolts of lightning streaked across the sky, Albus ran his fingers down the beautiful length of Minerva's back, dousing her cold skin with warm water. While the rain kept drumming on the window, he nuzzled her neck and left a trail of wet kisses down her arms before his hands slipped around her and started working their way back up. He drew circles on her flat stomach and then around the swell of her breasts until they were taut from something other than the cold.

He got to squeeze them gently before Minerva sent water splashing over the edge of the tub onto the floor by turning around too fast. As the storm outside raged and roared, the thunder echoed deeply inside Albus' chest when Minerva pushed him down and took him inside of her. Together they lit up with a spark of electricity that was their very own.

Even though the magic of the tub would keep the water warm for as long as they wanted it to, they climbed back out eventually and lay on the bed instead. Wrapped in each other, they listened to the storm slowly blowing itself out.

"Do you remember the first lightning storm we spent together?" Minerva asked with a smile.

Albus chuckled darkly. "How could I forget? I've rarely been so frightened."

"Of the storm?" Minerva teased.

"Yes, I have a terrible fear of being hit by lightning," Albus replied drily. "And an even bigger fear of losing you."

Minerva grinned. "I had everything perfectly under control."

"That's one of us then. I was busy questioning my sanity in ever having agreed to teach you how to become an Animagus."

"I'm glad your trust in me was bigger than your fear."

"It always is," he promised her. "Though that didn't stop me from pondering which country I should expatriate to just in case, so your father would never find me."

Minerva laughed quietly. Then she turned her head towards him and pierced him with a quizzical look. "What exactly did you feel for me back then?"

Albus' hand rested on her stomach and he splayed his fingers thoughtfully. "I… cared for you very much."

She gave him a lopsided grin. "But not enough to think we might be doing this one day during another lightning storm?"

"I don't think the depth of my feelings was the deciding factor there, but no, most definitely not," he chortled. "No complains, though," he added more seriously.

"Me either," Minerva replied with a happy sigh.

There was nothing but quiet for a minute, a quiet that Albus treasured immensely. That they could give each other these little moments of simple joy and inner peace would never cease to amaze him.

"Thank you," Minerva said eventually. "For inviting my father today. That he finally got to see all of this…" Her voice cracked, but Albus didn't actually need her to put into words what this meant to her, and she knew it.

"Merlin knows I cannot give you much and not nearly what you deserve, but I wanted to give you this," Albus told her.

"Well, you also have a fantastic bathtub to offer," she quipped.

"That I do," he nodded with a helpless laugh.

Minerva sobered. "But you didn't just do all of this for me, did you?"

"Sadly, no, but let's say, you inspired me to do the right thing," Albus replied.

"Then I am as proud to be your muse as I am of what we did today," she said.

"What's the meaning of this then?" Albus asked, and with one finger he traced a line that creased her forehead, down her nose all the way to her lips.

She pressed a kiss to his fingertip. "Asked the man who's made worrying his favourite pastime."

"Takes one to know one," Albus pointed out cleverly.

Minerva thought about how to put her concern into words, clearly regretting that she had to speak of it at all. "Between the Squib marches, the anti dark magic laws you have been pushing through the Wizengamot and now opening Hogwarts for Muggles, it will only make those so-called Death Eaters more fanatic. And fanatic can be dangerous," she said softly, her eyes trained on him as wise and penetrating as ever.

When Albus didn't immediately respond, she continued, "And yet, knowing all of that, it feels like you're challenging them on purpose."

He met her gaze then. After all, he had told her that his trust was bigger than his fear. "I am. Because they need to know that we will fight them. Match their depravity with kindness, their narrow-mindedness with acceptance, and their hatred with love. And Hogwarts will always remain a beacon of light."

The expression on Minerva's face wavered only for an instant. Trust over fear. "As long as it has you," she said.

"As long as it has both of us," he corrected her.

"And what happens then?" she wondered, shifting restlessly.

Albus clasped her in his arms and made her be still. "I do not know. But I do know you have my love. Now and always."

Minerva's heart quieted, and so they had weathered this storm. There would be more.

But not tonight.

* * *

**A/N: I'm so sorry for the wait. Life just got in the way and then I had technical difficulties reaching the site. It was one of those weeks. Anyway, this chapter was important to me because Robert's mixed feelings about Hogwarts had been a theme for a while. I don't actually know if canon says anything about the 'Muggle parents in Hogwarts' issue. But since I had decided that they could not enter (other than for graduation), I always knew that Albus would change that as headmaster - not just for Minerva, of course, but it would have been an added bonus to doing the right thing. :) I hope you enjoyed this chapter and thanks for sticking with me and this story!**


	42. Till Death Do Us Part

**A/N: Something wicked this way comes... ;)**

* * *

**42\. Till Death Do Us Part**

"Have you taken a closer look at that monstrosity of a willow lately?" Minerva asked while she waited for Albus to sign off on some timetable changes. "It has become positively murderous. It almost poked my eye out the other day!"

The scandalised tone of her voice amused Albus, though this wasn't a laughing matter by any stretch of the imagination. "The willow can't differentiate between unauthorised visitors and the deputy headmistress. It is, after all, only a tree, but one that is clearly proving effective. You know that a less aggressive tree wouldn't help us in protecting the hidden entrance."

"Yes, I know, but I'm not so sure it does us much good if the students get clobbered to death by a homicidal tree, just so they never get to meet the murderous werewolf," Minerva pointed out.

"I think the students are smarter than you give them credit for."

Minerva sank into a chair, heaving a sigh. "Not all of them. Certainly not Black and Potter."

Albus smiled at her. "Yes, I heard you put them in detention. Their first week here – is that a new record?"

"Well, it's not one to be proud of, is it?" Minerva snapped. "I knew Black would be trouble. A Black in Gryffindor – whoever heard of such a thing?"

"You wouldn't be biased against him, now would you?" Albus asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Biased against his charming family of lunatics and supremacists?" Minerva snorted. "Why, I wouldn't dream of it."

"Sirius doesn't seem like a lunatic or a supremacist to me," Albus said quietly.

"Oh, but he's arrogant, and he's only eleven years old!" Minerva complained. "And he's daring Potter to mimic his behaviour. But the worst part is… they have the talent to match!" She reached into the pocket of her robes and produced a couple of matches that had a distinctly silver sheen to them. "They produced these yesterday. Thankfully, one of the girls was even better, so that's something."

"Sounds as though you have a very talented class on your hands." Albus couldn't ban the envy from his voice completely.

Sometimes, being out of the classroom was tough. He missed the interaction with the students and the chance to discover the rare talents among them. He now let Minerva fill him in on everything and it made him feel as though he was still connected to the students in some way. But as headmaster, he was expected to stay away. Up here in his ivory tower, as Minerva had once called it.

And he did important work. But in times like these, nothing was more important than to protect and shape the generation after them. After all, who were they fighting for if not for them?

Minerva acknowledged his feelings with a sympathetic smile. Then she continued, "Talented they may be, but respectful I think not. The best-behaved student in that class is a werewolf for heaven's sake!" She shook her head. "That poor boy. He seems so gentle and very bright, too."

"Good, it wouldn't hurt if he did well in school, since the governors are still not happy with me for letting him come," Albus said.

"Poppy and I support your decision one hundred percent," Minerva said, scowling, not at him but at the governors, who unfortunately couldn't see it. "And we all agreed that it's a manageable risk and that he deserves a chance. Although, ironically, it might have been safer for him back at home away from Black and Potter."

"Perhaps they can all make friends," Albus suggested. "Young Mr. Lupin looks like he could use some."

Minerva's brow furrowed. "Well, he better choose the right kind."

"I think that goes for all of us right now," Albus said darkly.

"More bad news?" Minerva asked, her eyes wandering to the Muggle newspapers on his desk.

"More disappearances," Albus told her.

Minerva gritted her teeth in anger. "Why are the Muggle authorities not doing anything?"

"For one thing, there's not much they can do, and most of these Muggles don't seem to have a family or even a home, so they just fall through the cracks."

"Then why attack them at all? If that is what he's doing?" Minerva wondered. "Just for sport?"

"He might get some sick sense of pleasure out of it," Albus nodded. "But I fear he has bigger plans for them than that."

"Plans? For dead Muggles? Like what?"

He dreaded saying it out loud, but not saying it would not make it any less true. "Like building an army."

Minerva paled visibly. "Are you talking about Necromancy? But you yourself said that's a branch of magic that has never worked!"

"It doesn't if one wishes to bring back a person with a mind and a soul, but if one only cares about life in its basest, most pitiful form, it is possible," Albus was forced to admit.

"But an army? That sounds like…"

"I know what that sounds like," Albus said when Minerva's voice had trailed off weakly.

"Albus," she whispered, "is that where we are now?"

"It might be," he said with a sigh.

The only comfort he could offer her was a gentle squeeze of her hand. But he feared that wouldn't nearly be enough.

* * *

Her eyelids growing heavier by the minute, Minerva tried not to fall asleep over the essays she was grading. She could have gone to bed, but Albus was still sitting at his desk, brooding over… something, and Minerva knew he wouldn't go to bed for hours. She didn't want him to be alone, so she stayed in her chair across from him, doing her best to stay awake.

A knock on the window startled her so badly, she nearly dropped her quill, but it was only an owl. It was one of the little express ones and it looked as if it had flown so fast that it was seconds away from dropping out of the sky in exhaustion. Albus accepted the letter and allowed the owl to stay and rest for a moment, though Fawkes didn't look too happy about that.

The phoenix' feelings about sharing his perch with an owl clearly weren't of particular importance to Albus right now. "The minister is coming," he informed Minerva, looking up from the letter with a frown.

Surprised, Minerva half rose out of her chair. "Should I leave…?"

"Stay," Albus said with a soft shake of his head. "I have a feeling whatever she's coming to say, will affect all of us."

While Minerva was glad that Albus wanted her to stay, his ominous words filled her with worry.

When Eugenia Jenkins entered the headmaster's office, the look on her face immediately confirmed that this was not a visit she had ever wanted to make.

"Dumbledore. Minerva," she said with the barest of nods. "I would wish you a good evening, but it's not, so…"

"Have a seat, Minister," Albus replied, skipping the pleasantries as well.

Jenkins shook her head. "No time for that. I'm just here to… bloody hell, I don't even know. But everyone seems to think that you're our only hope, and that's all well and good, as long as you work with the Ministry and not against us."

"I can assure you I have no intention of working against you," Albus said calmly.

"But you have no intention of working with us either?" Jenkins retorted shrewdly.

"That depends entirely on what you're planning to do, Minister."

Jenkins ran a hand over her face. "I'd like to know that, too, actually. After what happened tonight…"

"I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage there, Minister, since I haven't been informed about that yet," Albus told her.

"There have been… attacks," Jenkins said grimly. "All over the country. Roughly at the same time."

"Attacks on whom?" Minerva asked, though she knew the answer before Jenkins even opened her mouth.

"Muggles." The look on Jenkins' face was one of terror. "It's a bloodbath, Dumbledore! We haven't gotten to the bottom of it yet, but they… they left us a message… a mark… in the sky."

It wasn't as though this had come completely out of the blue. It wasn't as though Albus hadn't been reading the signs. But no one had expected this to escalate so quickly and so violently. Even if they had, that wouldn't have made this news any less horrific.

"Where?" was all Albus asked.

Jenkins did her best to shake off some of the images that clearly still haunted her. "Figures in masks were spotted down in Kent, setting buildings on fire. In Wales, they must have had a pack of werewolves that went on a rampage, and then it looks like… though it can't be of course, but there's no other explanation… it certainly wasn't a tornado as they're saying on the Muggle news… it looks like they set a bloody giant loose up here in Scotland."

Her eyes wide with alarm, Minerva sat up straighter in her chair. "Where in Scotland?" Had they come close to Hogwarts? Were the students in danger?

"Further northeast of here," Jenkins said. "It was probably easiest to hide him there. Left a swath of destruction around Caithness."

Minerva felt as if the minister had just pierced her heart. Albus shot her a quick look of warning, but she barely registered it. She was already out of her seat and out the door, not caring about the confused look on Minister Jenkins' face.

As soon as she was no longer on Hogwarts grounds, Minerva Disapparated with only one destination in her mind – her old childhood bedroom. It was risky and irresponsible to Apparate directly into the house, but she couldn't help herself. When she reappeared and found the manse mostly intact and still standing, except for a couple of broken windows, she almost sank to her knees in profound relief.

She flew down the stairs, but the house was empty. When Minerva burst outside, she saw why. The rest of the village hadn't been as lucky as the manse. She could see from here that the roof of the church had collapsed, and it wasn't the only building that had suffered serious damage. There was still dust in the air from all the debris. She wasn't surprised at all that there was talk of a tornado on the Muggle news, because that's what it looked like.

Until Minerva lifted her eyes to the sky. There it was. A colossal skull, composed of what looked like emerald stars, with a serpent protruding from its mouth like a tongue. Minerva had never felt her entire body be seized with so much dread. A message, Jenkins had called it. If that's what it was, then it was as simple as it was terrible.

Death.

"Minerva!"

She whirled around when she heard her mother's voice. Isobel was running towards her and grabbed her fiercely, pulling her into her arms.

Minerva returned the gesture. "Papa?" she barely managed to whisper, not wanting to hear the answer and yet having to ask.

"He's fine," Isobel assured her. "He's trying to find shelter for everyone for the night, but…" her voice trailed off, tear-stricken. "Mrs. Caraidland is dead, and Angus, and the McGregors…"

"What?" Minerva's words were sharp as ice.

"The farm was razed to the ground. They didn't stand a chance. Not even the children…" Her mother's cheeks were wet with tears, but Minerva had no consolation for her.

As if in a trance, she let go of her, turned around and started running, following a path her feet hadn't taken in years. One she had never thought she would ever take again. Certainly not so she could see with her own eyes a truth that was too horrendous to even comprehend.

In the ghastly green light of the obscene mark in the sky, there was no denying it. The farm was just… gone. The farmhouse, the barn, the stables, all collapsed, ripped apart, stomped into the ground, reduced to nothing but rubble. And somewhere underneath it all… Dougal, his wife, his children.

Minerva waded into the destruction before her as far as she could until her strength left her and she fell to her knees. A howl ripped through her as if the sound came directly from her very core. It wrestled its way out, erupted from her lips with all the horror and hurt she could no longer keep inside.

A hand came to rest on her shoulder. She knew from its weight that it wasn't her mother. She knew that touch better than any other, but in this moment it brought her no solace.

"Don't," Minerva wailed.

Albus pulled back his hand, but only to crouch in front of her, bringing his face directly into her line of sight. He opened his mouth, but she didn't want to hear it.

"Just go, Albus. Leave me," she beseeched him. Surely, there were other places where he was needed now.

His blue eyes were hard and kind at the same time. "I will not."

"Please," Minerva choked. She couldn't stand it. The love and comfort he offered.

Heaving a sigh, Albus pressed a kiss to her forehead, and then, as if he was fighting against a gravitational pull, he rose slowly and turned his back on her.

He lifted his wand into the sky and a flash of brilliant white light shot out of its tip. It engulfed the vile mark and swallowed it up, leaving only the blackened sky behind that glittered with stars, almost peacefully. Then Albus directed his wand at the rubble of the farm, clearing it slowly, carefully, until the bodies emerged one after the other.

When Minerva saw Dougal, battered, bloodied and broken, all the air seemed to rush out of her lungs, leaving her empty and lifeless. And when she saw his children, something inside of her broke.

She could have chosen him. She could have protected him. Protected his children – what would have been their children. But she had chosen a different life. A different love. A love of magic. A love of Albus Dumbledore.

And in her selfishness, all she had left for Dougal was death.

* * *

Somehow, Albus brought her home. And somehow, Minerva kept breathing, though in a world where children were murdered without a second thought by people who walked freely among them, there should have been no more air left to breathe.

But there was. And there were other children for whom she was responsible. That thought alone got her out of bed. She wasn't well enough to think clearly, though. It didn't fully register with her that Albus had laid her in his bed, not hers, so when she got up, she stumbled into his office, not hers. And of course, he wasn't alone.

Thankfully, it was Hagrid, who he was talking to, and the caretaker didn't seem bothered by Minerva's sudden appearance. "Thanks fer askin' me ter join. I'll do whatever yeh need. I won't let yeh down," he said to Albus.

"I know you won't. Thank you, Hagrid."

The giant man gave Minerva a sympathetic smile before he turned to leave.

As soon as he was gone, Albus rose from his chair and came towards her. "Minerva…"

She held up a hand to stop him in his tracks. "What did you and Hagrid just talk about? What did you ask him to join?" she asked, forcing her voice into something that resembled her usual tone.

She couldn't let Albus see the depth of her pain or he would keep trying to comfort her. To melt into his arms was exactly what she wanted right now, but also exactly what she could not bear.

The look on Albus' face told her that he suspected what she was doing, but he seemed to decide to humour her. "Last night Voldemort showed his true face. He has proclaimed himself the 'Dark Lord' and he has proven that we are now at war. The Ministry will be busy cleaning up last night's attack alone for days, unable to do what needs to be done to prevent more attacks. We need to act swiftly now, and we need to do it unimpeded by the Ministry. We need to stand together, close ranks, fight Voldemort's chaos with order," Albus said.

"So I have reached out to a few trusted individuals to join me in this fight. Fawkes has helped me to deliver the messages, but I will need to come up with better means of communication for members of this Order."

Minerva looked from Albus to the phoenix and back. She had known that Albus wouldn't let this go unanswered. It had only been a question of what his answer would look like. The Order of the Phoenix then. It filled her with the tiniest spark of hope.

"What do you need me to do?" she asked.

Albus slowly shook his head. "You cannot join the Order," he said softly.

"What?" That little spark inside of her died instantly. "You will put your trust in Hagrid, but you won't trust me?"

"I trust you with all of my heart. Quite literally," Albus said, holding his hand out to her, but Minerva stepped out of his reach once again.

He sighed. "You shouldn't put any more of your family at risk. Your father is a Muggle, your mother and brother are married to Muggles. You're a family of 'blood traitors', as they would call it."

"I don't care what they call it," Minerva said heatedly. "We are a family that fights."

"Then fight for Hogwarts," Albus replied urgently and took a step towards her without trying to touch her. "I will be forced to divide my attention in the times to come. Hogwarts needs you. Now more than ever."

"I can do more than that," Minerva insisted.

"And you will," Albus nodded. "It is only a matter of time until the Ministry comes calling again. You are one of the precious few highly capable and trained Animagi they know of. They will ask for your help in this war, and I think it's better not to force you to play both sides. They would only try to use you to glean information about what it is I'm doing."

"Fine," Minerva huffed, too exhausted to argue, and turned away.

That's when Albus grabbed her by the shoulders. He didn't try to turn her back around to face him. He just held on to her. "Minerva, stop. Just let me know how I can help you."

"You can't," she said wearily. "Not this time." By loving Albus, she had killed Dougal. It was a truth as simple as it was devastating.

Albus took yet another step closer to her, bringing his mouth almost right to her ear. "There is only one person to blame for what happened last night, and it is not you," he said gently, but determined.

"But I am still alive and his entire family is dead," Minerva replied, pained.

"And had you belonged to that family, you would probably be dead now, too," Albus pointed out.

"Maybe it would be better that way."

"I understand that you loved him, but you have held on to that love twenty times as long as you ever got to be with him. You were loving a ghost long before he died."

Anger flared up inside of her hot and fast. "Really, Albus? You of all people want to lecture me about loving ghosts? You made me say a dead girl's name every time I wanted to step into your rooms! So don't you talk to me about holding on to the dead!"

When Minerva turned around to him now, Albus looked decades older, greyer. "Then help me, Minerva," he pleaded with her. "Help me hold on to the living. Help me hold on to you."

"Don't you have more important things to do?" she wondered.

"Yes," he said plainly. "And no. Because if we let him have this, then he has already won."

"Then perhaps he has won!" Minerva exclaimed helplessly, throwing her hands in the air. "My God, Albus! He has giants and werewolves and possibly Inferi, and we don't know where he is or who most of his supporters are! We can't possibly protect everyone. We can't even protect innocent children! So what can we do?"

"We can mourn them. And grieve. And let our hearts be broken. We can suffer and lament and feel pain and guilt." Albus' eyes were ablaze, his voice transcendent. "But we must live and love and fight to see another day, because we cannot give in and we cannot let him have one inch more than he can pry from the very tips of our fingers."

Minerva gaped at him, at the man he was, not because of his power or his magic, but because of his beautiful, beautiful heart.

A tremble ran through her entire body. She couldn't speak and she still couldn't see the way forward, but perhaps she didn't need to.

Because he would lift her up. And all he needed from her was not to lose faith in him now.

And so she stepped back into Albus' arms.

When he held her to him, it didn't magically make the pain go away, but it reminded her that the pain hadn't magically made the love go away either. "Do you think it was a coincidence?" Minerva whispered into his shoulder. "That they set that giant loose in Caithness, of all counties in Scotland?"

"I do not know," Albus replied. But they both knew that he didn't believe in coincidences. "If I thought it would save you, I would let you go," he said quietly.

"Would you?" Minerva asked, her heart clenched in her chest.

Albus rested his chin on the top of her head. "No."

Despite her guilt and confusion and pain, Minerva released a shaky breath of relief. If their love was selfish and dangerous, well then, they would just have to fight until the very end.


	43. The Worst of Times

**43\. The Worst of Times**

Very soon, Hogwarts became one of the only secure places in Britain. Minerva was immensely proud of that. Keeping the students safe took utmost precedence. If they hadn't been able to guarantee their safety, there would have been no other option but to close the school altogether.

But as it turned out, Voldemort and his followers came nowhere near it. Ironically, Minerva almost wished they would. Then she could have enjoyed a front-row seat to witnessing his defeat at Albus' hands. Because there was no question as to why Voldemort wasn't showing his face other than to commit his horrendous acts of terror and then slink back into the shadows.

With nothing but death, fear and distrust sweeping through the country, Minerva had never been more grateful for her calling to teach. At times, things at Hogwarts were almost normal – or whatever passed for normal around here. Yelling at James Potter and Sirius Black every other day was a welcome distraction from all her other worries. Not that she would ever tell them that.

They did not need any further encouragement for their exploits. They could also not be reined in. And perhaps, if Minerva was truly honest with herself, she didn't really try. After all, it had quickly become clear to her that they were true Gryffindors at heart, even Black. There was no denying their brilliance and bravado. And their occasional hubris and pig-headedness was counterbalanced by their kindness. To some people at least.

They had indeed made friends with Remus Lupin, which seemed to have made all the difference in the world for the poor boy. And then there was Peter Pettigrew, whose name Minerva had kept forgetting in the beginning because he was just so, well, easy to forget. Whether Potter and Black really liked him or just needed a bit of a fan club wasn't quite clear to Minerva. Either way, she never got directly involved in the social interactions of her students.

If she had, she wouldn't have questioned Black and Potter's choice in friends, but Lily Evan's – a bright young witch in the making, who reminded Minerva of herself sometimes. And not only because she was the newest crown jewel in Horace's Slug Club collection. But for reasons beyond Minerva's comprehension, her best friend was a boy from Slytherin, who was very hard to read. In Minerva's classes, he hid behind a thick curtain of greasy black hair and he never spoke unless she specifically called on him.

The only good thing Minerva could say about Severus Snape was that he wasn't as loud and boisterous as the rest of Slytherin house. There were days when they seemed to own the whole school. Every other morning one poor boy or girl at the Gryffindor, Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff house table would suffer a heartbreaking meltdown after receiving the worst kind of news from home. Out of sympathy, and knowing that they could be next, the other students ate in silence. All except for the Slytherins. They kept laughing and messing around because they knew that their families were safe.

It was then that Minerva thought of what Apollyon Pringle – of all people – had said to Albus. Little murderers in the making. She couldn't help but wonder if his words had never been more true than they were now.

A knock on her office door pulled Minerva out of her reverie. "Come in," she called and tried to hide her surprise when it wasn't a student or a colleague who entered, but a somewhat fearsome looking wizard with thin hair, small, calculating eyes and a distinctive scar across his face.

"I was told if I wanted to see the headmaster, I should talk to you first," he said without preamble as he stepped inside her study.

His voice made Minerva think of grating cheese. "And who are you?"

"Alastor Moody, Auror," he introduced himself briskly. "I'm guessing you've heard of me, and I've heard of you, so let's just skip the chitchat, all right?"

Asking for his name hardly qualified as chitchat in Minerva's eyes. But she had in fact heard of Alastor Moody, and he was well known for a lot of things, good manners not being one of them. "All right, why do you want to see the headmaster?"

"No offense, but that's between Dumbledore and me," Moody growled.

"No offense," Minerva echoed sharply, "but if you want me to take you to the headmaster, you'll need to give me more than that."

Moody glared at her, but interestingly enough, he didn't look annoyed. It was almost as if he approved of her tone. "I'm here to offer my services," he said after sizing her up for a moment.

Clearly, he didn't mean as a teacher because no one in their right mind would set this man loose on the students. Which left only one other option, and that was not Minerva's decision to make, even if Albus had let her officially join the Order.

"Come with me," she said and led Moody to Albus' office. He was changing the password almost daily and the list of people who knew it was extremely short. Minerva was serving as his guard dog as much as the stone gargoyle did. Albus was simply too busy to be bothered with anything that didn't absolutely require this attention.

Minerva didn't bother to wait for an answer from Albus after knocking on his office door because she knew that he was alone and he knew that she would be the one to enter. All she needed to do was to introduce the visitor she had brought.

"Albus, this is…"

"Alastor Moody," Albus finished her sentence for her and stood to shake the other wizard's hand. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Not sure what pleasure you're talking about, Dumbledore," Moody replied gruffly. "I'm not here for platitudes, or I would have stayed at the Ministry. I'm here to talk about what's really going on."

Albus cocked his head. "I see. In that case, I'm all ears."

Moody's narrow eyes strayed towards Minerva, which did not go unnoticed by either Albus or Minerva.

"You can say whatever you've come to say," Albus assured the Auror. "You can trust that none of it will leave this room."

"Trusting anyone other than yourself these days is the kind of foolishness that can get you killed, Dumbledore," Moody warned him.

"Then I guess I am a fool," Albus said coolly. "If that's a problem, this will be an extremely short conversation."

Moody sized him up the same way he had done with Minerva earlier. "Have it your way then. But we both know the Ministry has no idea how to win this war. Too busy chasing their own tail, now that anyone could be under the Imperius Curse."

"Including you?" Albus asked sharply.

The Auror gave a sudden bellow of laughter. "I'd like to see them try! But you're a quick study, Dumbledore. That's exactly what I'm talking about. You cannot trust most of these bloody idiots out there, except for maybe a select few. And I've heard rumours that you're collecting people like that."

"And you wish for me to collect you?"

"I want to do my part, Dumbledore. And there are others. Others I can vouch for."

Albus nodded thoughtfully.

Minerva took a step closer to him. "You said you didn't want to mix Order and Ministry business," she reminded him quietly.

He looked up at her, his eyes weary. "The sad truth is that we sorely need the help." His gaze went from her to Moody. "The Order would very much welcome the contributions of a man such as yourself, Alastor."

"Good, but she's right. Better the Ministry doesn't hear about this," Moody replied.

"Agreed. I assume you can produce a Patronus?" Albus asked him.

"A Patronus?" Moody repeated, confused. "You expect an army of Dementors to descend upon us?"

"At this point, I wouldn't rule it out. But there is also a way to use the Patronus Charm to deliver messages in private," Albus explained. What he meant by that was that there was a way now that he had invented it.

Moody answered with a curt nod, which was probably the closest he got to showing that he was impressed. "You really are a clever one, eh?"

"I will be in touch," was Albus' only response to that.

"All right." Moody turned back towards the door. "For what it's worth, I would rethink whatever this is," he added, pointing from Albus to Minerva and back. "Can't have any weaknesses right now, Dumbledore."

"No, what we cannot do," Albus replied calmly – a hell of a lot calmer than Minerva felt – "is to think like Voldemort does. He would very much refer to love as a weakness, and he would be just as wrong to do so."

Moody looked unconvinced, but he also didn't seem to have a rebuttal, so he shrugged and left.

"Charming fellow," Minerva commented drily.

"But he'll be of great value to the Order," said Albus.

"Unlike me," she couldn't stop herself from saying.

"You are of the greatest value to this school, the Ministry and, most importantly, to me. Isn't that enough?"

"Is anything ever going to be enough until we've won this war?" Minerva asked.

Albus leaned back in his chair, looking as though he didn't really have an answer to that question. "It'll have to be."

* * *

Minerva was so tired, she could feel it in her bones. After a long day of teaching and then overseeing yet another Potter/Black detention, she had left Hogwarts Castle in the cover of night to do her work for the Ministry – which usually involved spending all night as a cat, spying on possible Death Eaters or people who might have been put under the Imperius Curse. The distinction was increasingly hard to make.

Tonight, Minerva had managed to gather some valuable information. Now that she had passed that information on to her Ministry contact, all she could think about was sleep. She stumbled into her office, singularly focused on heading straight for her bed. When she noticed that there was somebody standing in the shadows by the window, Minerva winced so badly, she thought the sudden jolt that ripped through her might cause her heart to give out.

Light flared up and Minerva released a shaky breath. "Jesus Christ, Albus! I almost cursed your head off!" she cussed. "What in Merlin's name are you doing?"

He didn't respond, but he did pull her into his arms in a way that was unusually rough. She did neither resist nor complain, however. She perfectly understood the needy way his fingers were digging into her skin. Lately, all they did was to lose people. Holding on to what they loved became harder with every passing day.

"I apologise," Albus said at long last. "I just needed to make sure that you are all right."

"Why?" Minerva asked in alarm. "What happened?" Oh, how she had come to hate that question.

"The Order got word of another murder. One Voldemort seems to have committed himself, and we know he only kills those 'worthy' of his attention," Albus told her. "The witch hasn't been identified yet, but I knew that you were out for the Ministry tonight…"

Minerva sighed, wishing it wouldn't make her feel so guilty when she said, "I'm fine."

"My heart won't be if this continues," Albus said. "If I had known that it would come to this when you asked me to help you become an Animagus all those years ago…"

"… then we would now be missing yet another weapon," Minerva cut him off. "And we don't have enough as it is."

The Ministry was in disarray, the Order was too small, and growing smaller. The Prewett brothers had been killed only last week.

A devastating, heartbreaking loss.

And it had tripled the fear. The Prewetts were a well-known, respectable pure-blood family. They had died because of their work for the Order. Nevertheless, it meant that the Death Eaters were now also killing pure-bloods and half-bloods if they got in their way or betrayed their vision of the society they were trying to 'build'. It meant that no one was safe.

"You are more than just a weapon to me," Albus said into the quiet.

"Which is why you decided not to use me," Minerva reminded him. "But I still have to do everything I can, and you have to trust that I'll be okay."

Albus lowered himself onto the edge of one of her chairs and ran a hand over his face. A face that had twice as many lines now and was framed by hair with streaks of grey in it. She could practically watch him age a little more every day right in front of her eyes.

Minerva stepped up to him and Albus wrapped an arm around her midriff and laid his head against her stomach. She buried a hand in his hair that was growing longer, too. It sounded silly, but he didn't even have time to cut it anymore.

"Or are you questioning what you keep saying about trusting in each other?" she asked.

"These days, I'm questioning virtually every decision I've ever made," Albus replied. "You are the only exception." He pressed a kiss to her navel and got back up.

"Where are you going?" Minerva asked, surprised.

"Back to work."

Her eyebrows shot up. "It's four in the morning."

"Is it?" Albus replied, deadpan. Clearly, that didn't mean anything to him.

"Fine, then I'll stay up with you," Minerva decided. She would have only gotten two more hours of sleep anyway. At most.

Wordlessly, Albus held out his hand to her. There had been a time when he would have argued and tried to send her to bed. But the weight on his shoulders was too great for that now. He wouldn't ask, he never did, but he needed her. And Minerva would give what little she had to offer. Until she had nothing left, if she had to.

Fawkes eyed them warily, dozing on his perch, when they were back in Albus' office. They didn't really get much work done. Before long, they sat in two armchairs, watching the sun come up and bathe the office in colours of red and gold.

"Isn't it strange that there can still be something this beautiful in a time this dark?" Minerva mused.

"Only because we keep forgetting that light and dark can never exist separately from one another," Albus replied.

"But that would mean that even if we defeat Voldemort, there will still be darkness."

"Yes, and in that darkness there will be light, just as there is now. It's just a matter of finding it."

The rays of the early morning sun sparkled in Albus' half-moon spectacles and they turned the grey streaks in his hair to an almost blinding white.

"And it is not me," he said softly, as if he had just read her thoughts.

Secretly, Minerva disagreed, but she said, "So we keep looking."

"Yes," Albus sighed. "We keep looking."

* * *

He hadn't been at a professional Quidditch game of the British and Irish Quidditch League in… possibly never, Albus realised. Minerva had occasionally joked about dragging him to a game to support the Montrose Magpies with her, but of course, she had never done it because it would have been too public a display.

Nevertheless, Albus wished that was why he was here now. But it had nothing to do with Minerva's love for Quidditch and everything with the fact that the Montrose Magpies and the Appleby Arrows both had the most Muggle-born players on their teams. The Magpies' Seeker was one more catch away from setting a new record. Unfortunately, the Order had learned that the Death Eaters had no intention of allowing that to come to pass.

Albus had tried to talk to the Head of Magical Games and Sports about cancelling this regular season meeting between the two teams. But Hamish MacFarlan had refused, saying that they couldn't take away the joy of Quidditch, too, when it was the only thing some people were still leaving their houses for. In truth, he simply hadn't wanted to lose face.

So now, the Order had come out to watch the game, hoping to stop another disaster from happening. Thankfully, the Death Eaters' latest attacks had become so brazen that they no longer went for subtlety or stealth. Ten minutes into the game, they descended upon the stadium on broomsticks, sending curses after the few security guards to get directly to the defenceless players.

From his place in the stands, Albus raised his wand and blasted the Death Eaters out of the sky with a well-aimed, fierce gust of wind that the Quidditch players knew how to avoid. The Death Eaters, not trained to stay on brooms or prepared for such resistance, fell. For a wild moment, Albus felt a grim satisfaction while he watched and let them fall. But then he sent ropes after them that both secured and saved them.

With the Quidditch match thrown into chaos, Alastor walked onto the pitch to unmask the Death Eaters. "He's not with them," he growled.

"I didn't think he would be." Albus had never truly expected Tom to show himself at a Quidditch game.

But there had been too many deaths among the Order lately for Albus not to come out in person this time. It always left him with a feeling of unease, though, to be away from Hogwarts. Even knowing that Minerva and the rest of the staff would be especially alert.

There was a silent pop when Mundungus Fletcher Apparated to Albus' side. Minerva had practically breathed fire when she had learned that Albus had allowed the petty criminal to join the Order (over her). But his less reputable contacts had proved quite useful.

"You said to keep you informed if there's trouble, Dumbledore," he wheezed. "Well, there's trouble all right."

"You're a true genius, ain't you, Dung?" Alastor glared at the smaller wizard. "We know there is trouble!"

Albus held up a hand. "Where?" he asked.

"Couple Death Eaters showed up in Diagon Alley, trying to shut down all stores that sold stuff they didn't like or were owned by people they didn't like. Well, some of the store owners didn't like that much," Mundungus told him.

Urgently, Albus asked Alastor to control the situation at the stadium until the Ministry officials would arrive, and then he left for Diagon Alley with a deep sense of foreboding.

* * *

"I heard you were a Hatstall," said Filius Flitwick in a high voice.

"I was," Minerva replied haltingly.

"And that the choice was either Gryffindor or Ravenclaw," Flitwick continued.

"Yes."

"Mine, too! I mean, I wasn't a true Hatstall because the Sorting Hat took a little less than five minutes and that's the threshold, I think. But it was close. Funny, isn't it? I very nearly could have been Head of Gryffindor house and you could have been Head of Ravenclaw house."

Minerva eyed the newest addition to the Hogwarts teaching staff with great suspicion. "Yes, hilarious."

Standing in the doorway to the staff room, Albus sighed quietly. He had sent word ahead to the castle to ask that Minerva would be kept from hearing any kind of news until he returned. Apparently, the job had fallen to their new colleague, who had taken over for Cyrille Sowerby only recently, and yet he was kind enough to do the best he could to distract Minerva.

She must have heard Albus sigh because she turned around to him now.

Possibly for the first time ever, Albus wished that they wouldn't be so attuned to one another. As soon as Minerva saw the look in his eyes, she knew. And the answering look she gave him broke his heart.

The woman he loved, the strongest woman he had ever known, was begging him. Begging him not to say it. If that could have made the truth and the pain go away, Albus would have gladly held his peace forever.

Sadly, silence was not the answer, and he wouldn't make Minerva say the words either. He wouldn't force her to ask who and how. It mattered little anyway since the loss was the same in the end.

"There were Death Eaters in Diagon Alley, attempting to get it under their control. Robert resisted them," Albus said, his voice heavy, while he walked towards her. "He could not stop them. But they… stopped him."

Minerva crumbled right there in front of his eyes. With a yelp of alarm, little goblin-descended Flitwick struggled to keep her upright, but Albus was already there to take over for him.

"What do you need?" Flitwick asked urgently.

"Privacy," Albus replied quietly.

The Charms master gave a curt nod, and armed with his wand, he helped them to leave the staff room and to make their way to Minerva's study without being seen. It allowed Albus to use his hands to hold Minerva and not his wand.

She had been completely limp in his arms until they stepped over the threshold to her bedroom. "Debbie! Catriona!" she suddenly cried, jerking back upright.

"They are both fine!" Albus promised her, stroking her hair. "Mundungus is taking them somewhere safe for the time being."

"No! Not him!" Minerva moaned, struggling against Albus' hold on her.

"He will take them where no one else will think to look," he insisted. "They are safe."

"Not as safe as they'd be with you. Not as safe as Robert would have been if you had been there," Minerva argued, her eyes flashing. "Where were you? Where were you?" she screamed as she pummelled his chest with her fists.

Albus didn't stop her, not until her movements became so erratic that he was worried she might hurt herself.

When he held her hands in his grip, she lashed out with her words instead. "I want an answer, Albus! Where were you? What have you been doing? Up there in your office, busy with your research, digging into his past, collecting your information… How has that helped? How has it changed anything? How has it saved anyone while my little brother was murdered in cold blood?"

He had no answer for her and she didn't actually wait for him to give one. Because her anger collapsed at the same time that she did, replaced by tears and anguish and heartbreak.

"Oh my love, my love…" Albus murmured as he caught her and laid her on the bed.

She didn't fight him, but then again, she barely even seemed to know that he was there. He said her name like a prayer over and over to bring her back to herself, but she was gone. Untethered in her sorrow and grief.

All he could do was to hold her all night, listening to her shuddering breaths and jagged cries, and hope that some part of her soul would still be left by morning.

* * *

Staring blankly into space, Minerva flinched visibly when a sudden movement outside her office window caught her attention against her will. It was only a bird, though, and she would have quickly looked away again, had she not noticed that it was a very strange looking bird.

It had a beak like a toucan, the body of a pelican and wings as silver as a water goblet. It struggled mightily to stay airborne right outside her window. Minerva had seen a poor animal like that once before. She had tried to get it through James Potter's thick skull that he needed to stop messing around in her class or he would never learn how not to torture animals like that, despite all his brilliance.

Since then all of Minerva's classes had been cancelled or covered by colleagues so she could attend her brother's funeral. She hadn't found it within herself to return to the classroom just yet. But that bird outside her window could only be a message and a plea, and to Minerva's surprise it brought a small smile to her lips.

"I haven't seen that look on your face in a while."

She hadn't heard Albus come in, but she turned around to him now, glad to see him. "I will start teaching again tomorrow," she told him.

Albus sat in the chair opposite of hers. "If that is what you want. But you can still decide to go and join your family."

The funeral had been a small and quiet affair. Afterwards, even though they hadn't liked the idea one bit at first, Robert's surviving wife and daughter, Minerva's parents, her remaining brother Malcolm and his new wife Heather, who was also pregnant, had all agreed to accept the Order's protection and to go into hiding.

"No, my place is here," Minerva said determinedly. "Especially now that I know that they are safe. Thanks to you," she added.

"Hardly," Albus said.

She reached out to take his hand. "Will you forgive me?"

His brow furrowed. "What in the world would you possibly have to ask my forgiveness for?"

"I was cruel to you," Minerva said, closing her eyes in regret. "I don't remember all of it, but I remember enough."

"You were in pain."

"That is no excuse to hurt you."

Albus leaned forward and clasped her hand in both of his. "It wasn't your words that hurt me. There is nothing you would need my forgiveness for, and even if there were, you would already have it."

Minerva laced her fingers through his in thanks. "I hope you know that I didn't mean any of it. You're doing everything you can, and more. I know that." She paused. "But having said that, you're absolutely sure there is no way for you to find… You-know-who and just go and… kill him?"

"It is not that simple I'm afraid," Albus said sadly.

With a sigh, Minerva sank back into her chair. "I figured you would say that. Well, if that's not happening, then I guess I will just have to do something I actually can do, which is preparing my classes for tomorrow."

Albus smiled at her. "I was hoping you would say that."

Cautiously, she returned his smile.

* * *

It had been the right decision. While Minerva missed her family, most of all her brother, she could have never seriously considered leaving Albus behind. Teaching at Hogwarts was more than just a distraction. She had always found fulfilment in it, and she would again, with time.

It also served as a reminder that she was far from the only one who had to deal with loss and bereavement. When Minerva thanked Filius for his help the other day, he told her stories of how the goblins were faring under You-know-who's reign of terror. Many of those stories made her hair stand on end. And at the end of the week, Poppy had to leave the castle to help out her sister who had lost her husband.

Since there was also a full moon coming, Minerva volunteered to take over her chaperoning duties and look after Remus Lupin. By now, the boy knew perfectly well what to do, so accompanying him into what the people of Hogsmeade had begun to refer to as the Shrieking Shack was more of a kindness than a necessity.

Minerva had never done this before. Once they were standing in the abandoned, old, decrepit house and she saw the claw marks and the destruction the werewolf had already left in here, she felt like the worst educator on the face of the earth for leaving the boy alone in this dump.

"Do you need anything else?" she asked worriedly.

"I'm fine, Professor," Lupin said, even though it was her job to reassure him. And he said it almost cheerfully, which struck Minerva as very, very odd.

Out of a sudden instinct from years of teaching, she said, "You do remember that you cannot – under no circumstances – leave this hut?"

Now, Lupin no longer looked cheerful. His expression was pensive. "Yes, Professor."

"All right. Then I will see you tomorrow." Minerva squeezed his shoulder somewhat awkwardly and turned to leave.

"Professor," he called after her with some hesitation. "We all heard about your brother. I'm really sorry for your loss."

Surprised, Minerva paused. "Thank you," she then said around the lump in her throat.

"This war will be won by the right people. I know it will."

"And how do you know that?" Minerva asked, eyeing her student with a mixture of astonishment and appreciation.

Lupin scratched his head in embarrassment. "Well, I know that Dumbledore is the greatest man who ever lived, and if he doesn't find a way, then we're all doomed as a people anyway."

She gave her student a long, thoughtful look. Even though he was years younger than her, all Minerva could do was agree with him.

* * *

**A/N: I know some of you were very interested in my depiction of the war. I have to admit that I have a lot of questions about it myself, so I decided to keep my focus on Minerva, who wasn't involved quite as much, and also to fast-forward a bit. I hope you'll still enjoy this chapter and those to come.**


	44. One More Fight

**A/N: Sorry for being AWOL for a while. Life's a b**** right now, but it's a global pandemic, so you probably know what I'm talking about. Anyway, I have two new chapters for you today. Two because the second one is very short and very different. It just came to me like that. Also, this brings us very close to the end of Part 2.**

* * *

**44\. One More Fight**

For the first time in a long time, Minerva felt not hope – since there was still precious little reason for that – but a kind of fierce determination. Even if this war would keep dragging on for many more years than it already had, they would never give up. Perhaps it was foolish, but it came from knowing that they wouldn't stand alone.

The Order had received an infusion of fresh, young blood when Albus had recruited almost all of Minerva's best students immediately upon their graduation from Hogwarts. Recruiting wasn't even the right word for it. Former students like Potter and Black had practically been champing at the bit to join the fight.

Minerva had felt uneasy at the thought of letting these incredibly young men and women risk their lives like that after she had spent seven long years protecting them. But there was no other way. After all, they were the ones who still had long lives ahead of them – lives that involved children and hopefully, eventually, happiness. In many ways, this was now their fight, their future, more than it was Albus' and Minerva's.

And speaking of the future, another reason for the tiniest of grins on Minerva's face was the fact that Professor Narramore had fled the castle. Without breathing one word to anyone, she had just up and left in the middle of the night. Most likely, her intention was to get out of the country altogether, thinking she would be safer far away from the British Isles.

It was the single most foolish thing the woman had ever done – and that was to say something. Nowhere on this entire planet would she be as safe as she had been under the roof and protection of Albus Dumbledore.

Naturally, Minerva wasn't about to shed a tear over her loss. All of a sudden, Hogwarts was now missing a Divination teacher, which would have been a minor catastrophe under different circumstances, but in this particular case, Minerva was trying to persuade Albus to just keep it that way.

"To discontinue a subject that has been taught at Hogwarts for hundreds of years might be one controversial decision too much for the governors to accept," Albus mused.

"You really think after everything you have presented them with since they made you headmaster and with a war going on, they will pick a fight with you over whether or not the students get to play with tea leaves?" Minerva argued.

Albus looked at her with a mild, affectionate smile on his lips. "So you want to use this war as an excuse to win your personal vendetta against the art of Divination?"

She shrugged. "Well, it's got to be good for something, doesn't it?"

"Yes, I suppose it does," Albus said thoughtfully.

Minerva perched on the armrest of his chair. "Do you remember when you were first appointed headmaster? How good it felt to take this already great school and shape it into the Hogwarts we had always wanted it to be? The one we could truly be proud of? War or not, you can still do that."

"I must admit it makes for a nice change to deal with staff problems again rather than matters of life and death," Albus agreed.

"It doesn't have to be a problem. Not if you just… make it go away." Minerva gave him a little nudge.

Albus chuckled. "I forgot how adorable you are when you're trying to talk me into something you want."

"It's not just what I want," Minerva said with a huff. "Or do I also need to remind you that it was you who set me on this warpath?"

"I did no such thing," Albus protested.

"Really? What did you think would happen when you suggested I should sit in on one of Professor Narramore's classes before choosing to take Divination?"

"Well…" Albus said and then faltered. "All right, I concede I might have done a poor job of hiding my own bias."

Minerva's eyes lit up. "Does that mean you'll do it?"

"I will have to meet with one applicant first. She's the great-great-granddaughter of a very gifted Seer…"

"Assuming there is such a thing," Minerva muttered.

"Be that as it may, this war is definitely no excuse not to show some common courtesy. I need to make an effort at least. After that, I can certainly convince the governors that I have more important things to do than to keep searching for a suitable teacher," Albus said, and that was good enough for Minerva.

She didn't care who this woman was related to, she would never convince her or Albus that she could predict so much as the weather for tomorrow.

And so Minerva dared to dream of a Divination-free Hogwarts. Her dream lasted for exactly one week.

That's when Albus came bursting into her office, having just returned from meeting this Trelawney woman at the Hog's Head upon her request. Without a word, he dropped a scroll of parchment on Minerva's desk.

"What the bloody hell is this?" she asked, lifting the scroll with two fingers as though it might be contagious.

"It's the contract for our new Divination teacher," Albus replied simply.

Minerva looked up at him, dumbfounded. "What happened? You said you would just meet with her to humour her and to have a valid reason to scratch the subject from the curriculum!"

"I changed my mind."

"Whatever for?"

"I asked her to make a prediction for me and she did," Albus said with an almost frighteningly intense and wild look in his eyes. He pressed a hard kiss to her slightly open mouth and stormed out of her office, his silvery hair and beard flying.

Gobsmacked, Minerva was left to stare after him.

* * *

July used to be one of Minerva's favourite months in the year, but over the course of this war things had changed dramatically. For one thing, she and Albus no longer had time to enjoy the freedom of the summer months. Also, Hogwarts Castle was not empty.

Since it was a lot safer here than anywhere out there, many teachers had made the decision to stay for the holidays in recent years. Some even invited family members to stay with them for a while. Technically, that was not allowed, but neither Albus nor Minerva had any interest in kicking anyone out of the castle. No one understood the need to keep your family close better than Minerva. She could only wish to be so fortunate.

Anyway, she would have rather let all fifteen of Oldroyd's grand- and great-grandchildren stay in the castle permanently than one particular new colleague of hers.

"I have a very strict and very special diet that I need to stick to. It's of vital importance for my aura," Sybill Trelawney informed her.

Minerva tried and failed to look the least bit interested. "And why exactly are you telling me this?"

"So you can let the kitchen know, of course!"

"I'm the deputy headmistress, not your handmaid," Minerva replied in annoyance.

Trelawney wilfully overlooked her irritation. "And as deputy headmistress, isn't it your job to handle all requests from the staff? Since Dumbledore won't see anyone unless it's important, and apparently the health of his teachers is of no consequence to him."

Minerva gritted her teeth so she wouldn't retaliate for that dig at Albus. "I'm here to handle all reasonable requests, yes."

"Then will you please also let the house-elves know that I'll be eating my dinner up in my rooms? People look to me for guidance, so I cannot show myself mingling with those who are less seeing."

For about a day or so, Minerva had tried to give her new colleague a chance, thinking she might be different than Narramore. After all, she had impressed Albus with something. But the two of them were clearly cut from exactly the same cloth.

"Well, why didn't you say so right away? I will be glad to let the kitchens know that you won't be gracing us with your presence in the future," Minerva said, and the geniality in her voice wasn't even completely fake. The less she would get to see of Sybill Trelawney, the better.

Apparently taking her smile at face value, Trelawney said, "Thank you, Minerva. That is a very strong name, by the way."

Caught off guard, Minerva wondered if she should be polite enough to thank her for that compliment. Perhaps, she had made a bit of a snap judgment.

Then Trelawney continued, "It is understandable that you're struggling to bear it well. I'd be happy to offer you a consultation – free of charge, of course, since you're a colleague."

"I am not struggling," Minerva said slowly, her anger held back by her complete surprise at Trelawney's presumptuousness.

"It is not unusual. Especially in firstborns who lost a younger sibling."

And there was the anger. "Is that how you get people to pay for your ridiculous card tricks? By preying on their loss and offering them absolution for their worst failures?" Minerva raged. "That's despicable!"

Trelawney had the audacity to smile at her. "Oh, but my dear Minerva, I did not call your brother's death a failure on your part at all. You're the one who just did that." She wrapped her shawl tighter around her neck and started to walk off. "Like I said, come and see me any time. Free of charge!"

It took all of Minerva's willpower not to use that shawl to strangle her.

As the day progressed, Minerva convinced herself not to let anything that woman had said get to her. But she was still in a bad mood, so she was unexpectedly surprised, in a good way, when she got a visitor who might change that.

"Augusta! What a nice surprise!" Minerva said and offered her old friend and former classmate to take a seat in her office. "What brings you to Hogwarts?"

"Well, as of a few hours ago, I am a grandmother," Augusta told her with a proud smile on her face.

Minerva reached over to squeeze her hand. "That's wonderful. Congratulations."

"Yes, a strapping baby boy. Looks just like his granny!" she exclaimed enthusiastically.

"I'm sure he does," Minerva agreed. "But you needn't have come all this way to tell me this in person. It's a little early to bribe me into giving him special treatment, isn't it?"

Augusta snorted. "Oh please, I know better than to try and bribe Minerva McGonagall. No, no, I want you to be as strict as possible with Neville. Make a real man out of him."

"Well, he's barely even a boy yet, so…" Minerva's voice trailed off. She didn't mind catching up with her friend, her mood was a lot better already. But she was honestly confused by her unexpected visit. After all, travelling wasn't as safe as it used to be.

"I guess I just wanted to know what the masterplan is," Augusta admitted.

That did nothing to clear Minerva's confusion. "What masterplan?"

"Dumbledore's masterplan. To make sure my boy will even get to be a man one day. All I get from Frank and Alice are the same old platitudes about not giving up the fight, and that is all well and good, but there must be something else. So I thought I'd come to talk to Dumbledore myself."

Minerva suppressed a sigh. Augusta might be a good friend, but there was no way Minerva would let her pester Albus because of that. "I'm afraid he's not available right now, but how about a cup of tea while you wait?" she suggested, and when Augusta agreed, Minerva added a generous amount of whisky.

She then spent the rest of the evening distracting Augusta from insisting to talk to Albus. And also, distracting herself from the day she'd had. It did both of them some good and it was past midnight when Augusta finally agreed to leave.

As if on cue, Albus showed up shortly afterwards. "You have exceptional timing," Minerva told him.

"Why is that?"

"Up until a few minutes ago, you would have come face to face with a very emotional Augusta Longbottom," Minerva explained. "Apparently, that's a side effect of becoming a grandmother."

"Ah, boy or girl?" Albus asked quickly.

"A boy." To Minerva's surprise, that answer almost seemed to make him sad. "Were you hoping for a girl?"

"Aren't you always saying that the world needs more highly intelligent witches such as yourself?" Albus replied, but it felt like a clever way not to truly answer her question.

Minerva hadn't decided yet whether to dig deeper or not when a stag Patronus delivered more news.

"_Lily had the baby. It's a boy. We named him Harry!"_

"Well," Minerva said with a smile on her face while the Patronus faded, "it looks like the world got two healthy, happy and hopefully highly intelligent young wizards instead." She couldn't have been happier for her former students. "I think that is just as much cause for hope, don't you?"

Looking deeply thoughtful, Albus nodded. "As is any child brave enough to face this life."

"They didn't really get a say in that," Minerva pointed out. "They will have to trust that their parents made the right choice for them. And then hope that no one accuses them of failing to live up to their own name."

"Why would anyone make such an accusation?"

"You'll have to ask that woman you insisted on hiring because that's what she told me today."

"I doubt she meant it that way," Albus said cautiously. "And even if she did, you should know that she couldn't have been more wrong."

"Should I?" Minerva walked over to the window and leaned against the sill. "I don't really feel like a wise warrior goddess right now."

Albus followed her. "You might not feel like it, but you are all of those things."

She quirked an eyebrow at him the way he always liked to do. "Really? A goddess?"

His lips twitched. Perhaps the joyous news of the two young babies born into the Order had put him in a good mood. That had become a rare occurrence and, incidentally, also the best way to soften her up. "Well, as long as we're still on the topic of you being cross with me for hiring Sybill and me finding a way to make it up to you."

"Ridiculous compliments are not the way to do it."

Albus rested his hands on the windowsill to either side of Minerva, pinning her in place and securing her eyes on his. "It's not any more ridiculous than the way people think of me. In times like these, we all need to believe in something bigger than us. So, while unwise and unwarranted, I let them look up to me and I carry their hopes because I know they need me to."

"I know," Minerva sighed. "I wish I could make that easier for you."

"Oh, but you do," Albus told her. "Because while I carry their hopes, you carry mine."

There was a moment or two of silence. "Fine. You're forgiven," Minerva said and folded into him. "But I thought we had agreed that it's the children who we should put our hopes in."

"Yes," Albus said softly, letting go of the windowsill to hold her. "But the question is: which one?"

* * *

The large headmaster's desk was littered with fresh ink and scrolls of parchment while both Albus and Minerva tried to solve a different problem at hand. Albus was trying to find them yet another witch or wizard brave enough to accept the Defence Against the Dark Arts post, while Minerva was trying to draw up the timetables without knowing how many teachers they would actually have available in the new school year.

She had just been about to propose a break when the office door was thrown open rather unceremoniously, and without bothering to knock first, by James Potter.

His black hair was even messier than usual, the glasses on his nose were crooked and he had dark circles under his eyes. The reason for his obvious lack of sleep was right there in his arms, swaddled in a blanket with a Golden Snitch on it. The whole scene could have been comical if James had looked even remotely like his usual chipper self.

Instead, he transferred the baby into the arms of a perfectly unsuspecting Minerva, so he could plant both of his hands on Albus' desk. "What kind of a message is that, Dumbledore? 'We need to go deeper into hiding because Voldemort will be coming after us'?" James asked, glaring at Albus.

Lily had followed him more slowly and after closing the office door behind her, she sent a soft, apologetic smile Minerva's way, who was carefully bouncing the sleeping baby boy in her arms.

This sounded like Order business, but if Albus wasn't kicking her out, Minerva certainly wouldn't leave on her own accord. Plus, she had her arms full with baby Harry now.

"I would think that message is rather self-explanatory," Albus now replied calmly, his eyes on James.

"No, it bloody well isn't. Why is he coming after us?" James wanted to know.

"He has decided that your family poses a threat to him."

Lily came to stand next to her husband and took his hand. "Why us? We haven't done any fighting lately. We've barely even talked to others in the Order."

"Does that really matter?" Albus asked. "The only thing that matters now is to protect Harry," he added gently, looking at the baby in Minerva's arms.

The young parents did the same thing. "Fine, we'll stay in hiding then," James agreed grudgingly. While he loved his son, he seemed to struggle with being sidelined.

Albus shook his head. "Not good enough."

"Then what are you suggesting?"

"The Fidelius Charm."

James looked from Albus to his wife. Lily had always been the smarter one, more versed in the theory of complicated spells and charms. Under her breath, she quickly explained to her husband how the spell worked.

"That's it?" James asked. "That's the whole plan?"

Minerva decided that now was a good time to contribute something to the conversation other than by serving as a babysitter. "It is how we have hidden my family after my brother's death," she told the Potters. "Albus cast the spell and I'm the Secret Keeper. I would have never agreed to that if I wasn't one hundred percent certain that it's the best way to keep them safe from You-know-who."

Lily squeezed James' hand and gave him a nod. "All right. So what exactly do we do?"

"I can cast the spell if you wish. All you need to do is choose a Secret Keeper," Albus said and added in a grim voice, "which requires some serious consideration as this person will most likely come under direct attack from Lord Voldemort himself."

Minerva flinched when Albus said the name, nearly waking the baby, while James and Lily exchanged a worried look.

"I will, of course, be glad to offer you my services," Albus said into the tense silence.

To stop herself from protesting, Minerva almost bit off her tongue. It was silly because she should have been a strong supporter of the idea, but the thought of You-know-who coming after Albus suddenly filled her with dread.

Lily also looked shocked, but touched by Albus' offer. James' face on the other hand was closed off.

"No," he said. "Sirius will do it. I know you mean well, Dumbledore, but Sirius loves us. He loves Harry. He would rather die than tell that bastard a bloody thing."

Albus leaned forward in his chair, resting his arms on his desk. "And do you want him to have to die for you?" he asked bluntly. "No one here doubts Sirius' bravery or the strength of his love for you. But that alone does not make him a match for Voldemort."

James bristled. The accusation that he would let his best friend die for him clearly didn't sit well with him. "He doesn't have to be. He can go into hiding, too. Something that you, Dumbledore, cannot do. Voldemort would know exactly how and where to find you."

"Maybe that's just what we need," said Lily while she rested a hand on her husband's arm. "We've been waiting for a chance to make Voldemort come and face Dumbledore openly. So Dumbledore can fight him."

Bending his head closer to Lily's, James said quietly, yet clearly audible, "But are we sure he would win?"

"James!" Lily hissed.

Looking from his wife back to Albus, James said, "No offense, Dumbledore. But you have gotten old."

"Oh, undoubtedly," Albus nodded. "But I can assure you that I have one more fight in me," he said. The fierce light in his eyes made it perfectly clear that anyone who underestimated him because of his age was a bloody fool.

Of course, Minerva was hopelessly biased.

And so was James.

"I can't stake my son's life on that," he said. "I'm sorry," he added sincerely.

"I understand," Albus replied simply, but Minerva could tell that his voice had never been heavier with regret.


	45. As They Lay Dying

**45\. As They Lay Dying**

When Minerva McGonagall first heard of what You-know-who had done to the Potters and to himself, she refused to believe it – neither the horror and the heartache nor the hope and bittersweet joy – not until she would have heard it from the lips of the one man she trusted never to tell a lie.

And then she waited.

* * *

When Remus Lupin was told what Voldemort had done, what unimaginable, ultimate betrayal the Fidelius Charm had failed to prevent, he realised that the bite of a werewolf was not the worst pain he had ever felt.

And then he howled like the beast that he was.

* * *

When Severus Snape found out what the Dark Lord had done, what Dumbledore had failed to stop him from, but what he, Severus, had made him do, he wept.

And then he died inside.

* * *

When Sirius Black saw what Peter had done, what he, Sirius, had enabled him to do, he knew he would never again wash his hands clean of the blood of his friends.

And then he went to murder another.

* * *

When Albus Dumbledore learned that the best and worst of what he had suspected Tom to be capable of had come to pass, he added James and Lily Potter's deaths to the ever-growing list of failures he could never hope to atone for.

And then he vowed to make sure their son would live.


End file.
